


Risky Risqué

by CornflowerBlue (DayDaDahlias)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ashton Irwin Loves Luke Hemmings, Ashton is a Good Cook, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Luke Hemmings, Awkward Sexual Situations, Calum Hood & Ashton Irwin Friendship, Calum is basically just a frat boy but softer, Falling In Love, Financial Issues, Fluff and Smut, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Love Confessions, Luke Hemmings Loves Ashton Irwin, Luke is a Tease, M/M, Michael Clifford & Luke Hemmings Friendship, Michael is a Little Shit, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Phone Sex, Phone Sex Operator!Luke, Phone sex operator AU, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Top Ashton Irwin, phone sex operator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26471905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayDaDahlias/pseuds/CornflowerBlue
Summary: It's only his freshman year in college and Luke is having too many problems. One, he can barely afford to feed himself. Two, the junior in the dorm next door has way too pretty hazel eyes and keeps offering to make him dinner.Or, the one where Luke needs a job to pay his tuition and ends up getting one as a phone sex operator.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Crystal Leigh, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 104





	Risky Risqué

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything of this nature lol but I couldn't find a fic like this and so I thought I'd go ahead and write it. Enjoy!

Now, listen, Luke isn’t poor by any stretch but he’s certainly not _rich_. He’s not one of those kids that Mommy and Daddy bought a shiny new car for when he was sixteen. In fact, he drove around Jack’s old Toyota when he was in high school and worked two different waiter jobs until he could buy his own Honda. Although, it was bought from one of their neighbors and it’s honestly about as beat up and old as Jack’s car was. 

But it’s the thought that counts.

It’s not like Luke is dirt poor either. He’s had a cushiony life. Food on the table, a roof over his head, a family that loves him unconditionally, and a twenty thousand dollar academic scholarship to college.

Which was apparently his mother’s pride and joy. All she talked about at social gatherings when she was with Luke was, “oh, my son’s so smart. Yes, an academic scholarship. What’s he doing with his life? Uhm… He’s majoring in uhm… music.”

She tries to hide it but Luke can hear the disappointment loud and clear in her pauses.

However, no amount of warnings from college counselors and his family will deter him from doing what he loves. If he can’t have music, what’s the point of even being alive? 

That being said, college isn’t a cheap place and a twenty thousand dollars academic scholarship hasn’t covered it…

Thus, the problem arises. College costs a fuck-ton of money. And Luke doesn’t _have_ a lot of money. So, therefore, compromises need to be made. So far, that’s come in the form of only having one set of plates and silverware when he would feel much better with at least two. What happens if he loses his singular fork? He starves?

Luke’s been saying the entirety of freshman year that he needs a job, something—anything—to help himself out of the financial hole he is currently trapped in. His friends have been helping him out wherever he needs it and he appreciates it/them endlessly, but he can only accept so much charity. 

Not that he doesn’t like his friends helping him—he loves feeling cared for—but he can only take so much from Ashton (the junior who lives in the attached dorm beside Michael and he) before he starts feeling guilty. Not that he dislikes getting charity from Ashton… There’s no way he could. He loves all the things Ashton’s done for him/given him. For instance, when Ashton buys groceries for Michael and he under the guise of making a friendly dinner for their entire group.

Ashton is a family oriented person. Calum was the one who pointed it out to Luke, that Ashton makes close ties with people and then sticks to them until he dies. He’s the loyal type. Since Michael and Calum were already friends—having taken a math class together their first semester—Ashton (Calum’s best friend) and Luke (Michael’s best friend) have been forced to become friends by association. In the first few months, that meant lots of awkward hangouts where Mike, Cal, and Luke played FIFA on the couch while Ashton did legitimately important things like study or clean or cook or read. 

Sure, Luke resented him in the beginning weeks—what with his horribly attractive face and obnoxiously charming personality and irritating intelligence—but he has come to quite enjoy the older boy’s presence. Maybe even too much so.

He especially likes when Ashton makes them dinner. With that personality, intelligence, and appearance, Luke had figured Ashton couldn’t get any better but, of course, he was wrong (he often is). The man can cook too. 

At least once every other week, Ashton crowds the four of them into Calum and his apartment, saying that this is what friends do even though it’s absolutely not. Normal twenty-year old boys don’t slave in the kitchen for an hour to feed their younger, dumber friends around a round table as though they’re a proper family or something.

No normal twenty-year old sits at the head of the table and asks about his friends’ days like he’s a father of three. Honestly, though, he might be. As much as he drives each of them around, helps them with their homework, offers helpful life advice. Certainly the father of the group.

Ashton is one of a kind. And Luke knows, absolutely, that he wouldn’t have made dinners if it were just him, Calum, and Michael. This is charity, without a doubt.

Calum and Michael never seem to realize that is what Ashton’s doing when he cooks for all of them, making sure to create big enough meals that stock Luke’s fridge for the next week. They simply think Ash is that nice of a guy. And, sure, maybe he is… Okay, he totally is.

Ashton is two years ahead of Luke, a psychology major opposed to Luke’s pathetic future in music. God, Luke is going to be a Music Performance Major and he’s never going to make any money and he knows that. 

Ashton’s going to become a therapist or some shit, something all smart and professional where he teaches people how to love themselves and how to reach enlightenment and fix their fucked up lives. It’s ridiculous how smart and well-spoken Ashton is—especially when he talks about the mind—and, frankly, it pisses Luke off sometimes.

But he can’t deny the dinners. (Ashton is way too good a cook and way too sweet a face to ever turn down). And he can’t deny when Ashton says, ‘oh, this sweater is too small for me. Here Luke, it’ll fit you, I bet.’

Luke knows that if he were to examine the confines of his closet, he would discover that a large portion of his outfits are Ashton Irwin originals. He wonders if Ashton knows how much he’s helping him in these simple gestures. In a simple sweater, or a warm meal, or a new journal to take notes in, or a bag of pens. Ashton might not even know what a saint he is. It’s merely the way he exists in the world. Ridiculous. Offensive. Too good. 

Luke hates him.

But, Luke can’t survive on Ashton Irwin dinners and Ashton Irwin sweaters and Ashton Irwin smiles forever (even though sometimes it feels like he could). And he’s known for a while that he needs to get a job, constantly checking around campus to see if there is anything he can do to get some extra cash. But it’s _college_ and practically everyone is living off ramen noodles and Adderall so Luke isn’t special by any means.

Doesn’t mean he likes only having one plate though.

***

Calum suggests something while they are all hanging out at his dorm, Michael, Luke, and Calum engaged in an intense game of FIFA in the living room while Ashton cleans the kitchen like a busy housewife.

Luke keeps sending glances over his shoulder to watch him. 

Calum is arguably the most attractive in their group (Luke could argue for Ashton but, from the outside perspective, he knows what females like) and he’s constantly being lusted after by all the girls at this school, clinging onto his every word and giggling when he so much as winks to them. 

He is hanging upside down off the couch, his legs over the head and his hair grazing the floor. His cheeks and neck are turning red from the blood rushing down there and his black t-shirt has ridden up so his stomach is available to the air. 

His voice comes out in a hum, “you should do guitar lessons or something, Luke. I bet that’d pay pretty good.”

“That is a terrible idea,” Michael replies, reaching out to slap the exposed section of Calum’s stomach.

“What!” Calum jerks forward, nearly tumbling off the couch. “It’s a great idea. It takes what he loves doing—playing music—and what he loves getting— _money_ —and marries them together in beautiful matrimony.”

“Who the hell is gonna ask Luke for guitar lessons?” Michael asks through a heavy snort and Luke tries not to look too wounded. 

He knows he’s only a freshman but his teachers have always told him he’s ahead of the curve, that his voice merely needs some fine tuning and then he could have a real shot at a livelihood in this business… but hearing his own best friends say that—

“I would,” Ashton pipes up from the kitchen and when Luke snaps his head in that direction, he finds a dazzling grin on Ash’s face, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. He’s wearing a comfortable-looking hoodie and his curly brown hair hangs over his forehead. Ash is a great housewife for sure. Luke wouldn’t mind coming home to that every day.

He says as much in his returning grin. 

“Yeah.” Calum grunts, turning back to the T.V. and snuggling further into the couch cushions. “Of course you would.”

Luke doesn’t have any time to investigate that comment before Michael and Calum have thrown their interest entirely back into the game, elbowing each other on the couch and arguing, and Luke is forced to focus as so he doesn’t fall too far behind. 

Doesn’t matter though. He still loses. He always loses when he plays with them.

***

Guitar lessons aren’t the way to go for Luke, he knows that; no one would pay for a _freshman_ to teach them something Youtube could. Except for Ashton, apparently, but he was most likely kidding.

Although, Luke doesn’t hate the picture that surfaces in his head of sitting with Ashton on their couch, leaning over his shoulder as Ashton strums the guitar sitting in his lap, moving his fingers against the strings and teaching the older man how to play. Doesn’t hate the thought of their fingers bumping together while he does and chuckling as Ashton tries to get the notes in time and pitch. Doesn’t hate the thought of maybe possibly planting a kiss on his temple while he strums.

That’s never going to happen though and Luke is left searching for some sort of financial compensation. At this point, he’s getting pretty desperate. 

It’s apparent in the way he shifts nervously in his chair through all his classes. The way he won’t eat lunch some days and Michael has to force him, promising he’ll pay for it. The way he doesn’t want to go out on the weekends because he’s too scared to fall behind in any of his classes and not get the most of his scholarship. 

He stays cooped up on Friday and Saturday nights while Michael, Calum, and Ashton all hit the town. Well, not always Ashton. Sometimes he’ll hang back in his own dorm and watch a movie or work on school.

Like tonight, for instance, when Michael and Cal have gone out to one of their favorite bars (Toxic Honey, is what’s it called, or something as equally creepy) and Luke is sitting in the middle of his living room, buried beneath chemistry notes, his brain going haywire with how much knowledge he is trying to cram into it on such short notice. 

He seriously needs to write better notes, his handwriting is grotesque.

When the doorbell rings, he thinks to himself that Michael is home awful early. It’s only—he checks his watch—eleven. They’re usually out until at least three. 

When he opens the door though, it’s not a drunk Michael Clifford but a smiling Ashton Irwin standing in the hallway, holding out a plate with five gooey-looking cookies on it. 

“Probably didn’t cook them long enough,” Ashton says instantly, glancing at the plate before shrugging. “But they’re still filled with chocolate so it’s alright. Besides, the salmonella adds character.”

He laughs eagerly at his own joke and Luke’s heart stutters barely in his chest as his eyes dart from the plate to Ashton, not able to hide how big his eyes are growing. 

“Uh, is there a reason you’re making me poisonous cookies on a Friday night?” he asks. 

“They’re not poisonous,” Ashton complains as he hands the plate over, which Luke takes despite his reluctance, “they have _character_.”

“Deadly character, is what you’re saying.” Luke adjusts the plate in his hands, looking down at the mess of baked dough. They do look good though. Half baked and melted. Luke’s always liked it when his cookies are barely solid. 

“I cook; I don’t bake,” Ashton defends and Luke snorts but it brings up the question of why Ashton would even try to bake for him then in the first place. Ashton seems to notice his confusion so he tacks on, “I like to eat sweet things when I’m studying. Figured it might help you out.”

His hazel eyes become gentler while he looks at Luke and it’s crazy how they’re almost green but there’s brown to them and flecks of gold glitter his irises. He’s rather ethereal. 

“And I know you’ve been pretty stressed lately so…” Ashton bobs his head, dirty blonde curls shifting. “Yeah. I thought this would help. Unless you have like… I don’t know a gluten allergy or something, in which case this will not help. In fact, it will probably kill you.”

Luke laughs in surprise and concern creases Ashton’s forehead. 

“You’re not allergic to gluten or milk right?” Ashton moves like he is going to take the plate back. “Because I seriously don’t want to kill you with my shitty cookies.”

“Your shitty cookies won’t kill me,” Luke affirms and, to solidify the point, takes one from the plate. It falls apart in his fingers and Ashton winces at the sight. Luke doesn’t mind though and he pops the gooey mess in his mouth. A burst of chocolate spills over his tongue. He exclaims through an awkward mouthful, “oh!”

“You’re dying,” Ashton responds, his eyebrows flying to his hairline, and Luke shoves his shoulder. 

“They’re good, dumbass.” He takes another one off the plate and pops it into his mouth. 

Ashton appears genuinely surprised. “Are they?”

And no, they’re honestly not but it’s a hell of a lot sweeter sitting with Ashton’s shitty cookies on his dorm floor surrounded by notes than it is to sit alone.

***

Luke needs a fucking job so fucking bad.

Calum has a job. Ashton has a job. Michael doesn’t but his parents are paying every penny of his tuition and he doesn’t have shit to worry about ever. Must be nice, being the only child. Spoiled little brat.

Calum works a “very respectable” position as a cashier at Carl’s Jr. that he is far too proud of, if Luke’s honest. It doesn’t matter how attractive Calum is, no one can make a fast food place sexy, even when Calum tries.

“I could cut my Carl’s Jr shirt into a crop top?” he proposes from the couch, picking at its collar.

“I thought you were straight,” Luke returns to which Calum flips him off. 

“Why don’t you call it Hardees?” Michael groans, throwing his hands up and over his head. He’s on the loveseat of Calum and Ashton’s apartment, bending himself backwards over the arm, his shoes kicked over the other side. He keeps messing with his blonde hair. 

Calum is lounging on the couch in his work uniform and Luke is sitting on the carpet between them, his legs folded under him and his neck bent back to better watch Calum glare through his black eyes. 

“Because it’s _called_ Carl’s Jr.,” Calum replies like that is the only answer. There is no disputing it. 

“Luke, is it Carl’s Jr’s or Hardees?” Michael snaps, pointing an aggressive finger at Luke. 

Luke peeks at Calum from the corner of his eyes before he lets out a sigh. “Yeah, it’s a Hardees man, I’m sorry. I don’t know what the hell you’re on.”

“It is not! I am on nothing!” Calum gasps, clutching at his heart before he rolls over on the couch to shout down the short hall, “Ash! Ashton! Is it Carl’s Jr. or Hardees!”

“Does it matter?” Ashton asks as he appears from the bathroom, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and smoothing the front flat. Luke’s eyes travel over him and that shirt. Ashton looks so good in pink. “It sucks either way.”

“ _What_!” 

The offended expression Calum sports is one Luke honestly wishes he had a picture of. 

“Carl’s Jr. is, by far, the most respectable of the fast food chains.” Calum shifts up so his posture will be as poised as his explanation, showing his uniform off proudly. “If you wanted to take a lady on a fancy date but you only had ten dollars to your name, where would you go?”

“Home,” Ashton answers without missing a beat, “I’m a good cook.”

Calum snarls. “Okay, first of all, fuck you.”

Michael cackles, dancing his head to an imaginary beat as he pretends to scribble something on an imaginary notepad. “I’ll put Ash down as a ‘Hardees’ and that’s three to one, you freak.”

Calum is fuming, folding his arms and hunching his shoulders, but doesn’t object. 

“By the way—” Ashton clears his throat as he moves to the kitchen, tugging the pantry open so he can prepare their family dinner— “the most respectable fast food chain is definitely Wendy’s. Hardees is like the creepy uncle that puts his hand too low on your back when you take the family photo.”

Luke has never heard Calum scream louder in his life.

***

Ashton has picked up a job at a record store. Because he wants to make Luke fall in love with him. That has to be the answer. He _wants_ Luke to have an absolutely massive, horrible, unable-to-get-rid-of crush on him.

So he works in a record store. He works with Luke’s one true love. Music. 

And that makes Luke lose his mind a tiny bit. Because now Ashton will come to his dorm every other day, lean in the door frame with a pensive look on his face, and ask, “hey, what’re your thoughts on that guitar riff in Queen’s ‘Save Me’?” or “do you like the sax in this The 1975 song?” or “what do you think of her voice?” “This bass is killer, right?” “God, what a vocal that is!”

And then Luke won’t be able to shut up for at least an hour about guitars, and bass, and lyrics, and drums, and vocals, while Ashton sits across from him, listening intently, until Michael comes in, scowling, and begs Luke to just stop _talking_.

Then Ashton will give a soft apology and flash Luke this be-all, end-all smile that crinkles his hazel eyes and show off his dimples as he leaves.

Yeah, Ashton is definitely trying to make Luke fall in love with him. 

And it’s working.

***

Luke is so desperate for a job.

He is so desperate. 

So desperate, in fact, that when the words “phone,” “sex,” and “operator” came up together in conversation, he isn’t immediately deterred. In fact, he’s intrigued.

It’s Michael who makes the suggestion over dinner, because let’s be honest, it’s always Michael that makes Luke do dumb shit. And, of course, Calum agrees with the incentive, eyes going big with excitement, even if he is joking. 

They 100% are joking. 

The way that Michael leans over the table, grinning like a bastard, “I mean, c’mon Luke, it’d be perfect. With that sultry voice of yours, all young and pure? Old men would eat that shit up.”

“You could serenade them while they jacked off,” Calum choruses, skewering a baked carrot off his plate with passion. Ashton makes a face of disgust at the comment but doesn’t say anything.

“In their King bed with the ten year old mattress while their wife’s away on business and the kids are at school,” Michael adds in, bouncing in his seat, his eyes alight, “oh, it would be so good for you, Lukey. I really think it’d be some great character building. Plus, then you can kind of say you’re not a virgin anymore. A half virgin.”

Luke’s cheeks flush red in embarrassment and he snaps, “Stop telling people I’m a virgin! You know I’m not a virgin!”

Michael raises his hands in surrender, batting his eyelashes innocently. “I can’t help that you give off the vibe.”

“I can see it now,” Calum interrupts in a dramatic song, talking around a mouthful of carrot while he holds his hand across the air, showing off his grand idea, “Luke Hemmings, college student by day, erotic telephone sex worker by night. And then, in the subtitle, ‘half virgin’.”

Luke makes a move to strangle him across the table while Calum and Michael snigger to each other like they’re High School bullies making fun of Luke’s weight.

“One dinner.” Ashton massages his temples, staring up at the three of them through hooded eyes. “I ask for one dinner where we act like normal people and you can’t even do that.”

Calum cuts his carrots with a spoon. “It was too much to ask.”

“I’m a twenty year old man,” Michael adds incredulously, “do you expect me _not_ to talk about sex work at the dinner table?”

“I expect you to eat your carrots like a good little boy,” Ashton replies curtly, as though he is a mother telling her five year old to eat his greens and Luke can’t help but laugh loudly. 

The rest of dinner consists of trying to come up with a good stripper name for each other—because if you’re gonna talk about telephone sex, you have to talk about real sex, and thus prostitution (which was another suggestion for Luke’s new profession, especially considering he had what Michael referred to as a “dumptruck ass”).

Obviously Cliffoconda was Michael’s; that was the only option. They were struggling to find Calum one because there weren’t any good innuendos with ‘Cal’ involved. And ‘Cal-Pal’ just made them all feel dirty.

Michael and Calum are definitely making fun of the whole phone-sex situation, throwing in new punchlines and giggles every few minutes at the expense of Ashton (who Luke finds is exceptionally cute when he blushes), but Luke is taking it very seriously. 

Because, the more he thinks about it… the more it seems like a good idea.

They finally start trying to find an erotic name for Ashton, disappointed when they find that nothing seems to work.

“ _Ass_ -ton?” Michael proposes, raising both brows. 

“His ass isn’t nice enough for that,” Calum replies and although Luke snorts, he is disagreeing in his head. Obviously, Calum hasn’t been paying attention.

“C’mon now,” Ashton grumbles, not interested in the conversation and what his name would be if he were a whore, which is disappointing because Luke thinks Ashton would make a great whore if he gave it a chance. 

But Calum is fine with it, waving a hand as he scoops up a spoonful of carrots, and states, “it’s alright, enough people call you Daddy anyway that you don’t really need one.”

Luke chokes on his water, letting out a strangled hacking sound while Michael slams his silverware down and exclaims, “I’m sorry, they call you _what_?”

To which Ashton diverts his eyes to his plate, stabs a vegetable with his fork, and says brightly, “damn, these carrots are good!”

***

It’s during Luke’s Organic Chemistry class when he really sits there, pondering to himself what a truly great idea this sex work thing could turn out to be.

Luke’s a decently sexual person, he thinks, despite what Michael says. He could be sexy if he tried to be. If he ditched the sweaters that belong to Ashton and the jeans, he could be. And he could be a great whore if he wanted to be. 

The opportunity has never presented itself before. But now that it has… and now that Luke is really thinking about it… he can’t stop. 

He won’t even have to leave his dorm. He could sign up for a service that would forward calls to his personal phone during the times he doesn’t have classes (during the night, the afternoon. And, he’d be alone during the weekends mostly—because Michael seems to constantly have things to do, people to see—and it wouldn’t even be that hard. Really, what _is_ phone sex? Just some flirting and breathy noises. Luke could fake an orgasm. He acted in a play in Middle School. 

Under the guise of (not so) innocent curiosity, Luke does some research on the subject on his computer while his professor is running through the elements. 

Twenty minutes into his googling—the brightness on his computer turned down as low as he can get it, hunched over the screen—he finds the average salary for a PSO.

And his jaw drops. 

_500_ dollars a _week_? To phone fuck? Screw curiosity, Luke is in. Luke is so fucking in.

He could buy multiple plates for 500 dollars.

***

Michael is out of town this weekend, he and Calum off on some ‘best friends camping trip’ which has left Luke with ample alone time to research his new profession. He sets aside the entire Saturday afternoon to call multiple PSO companies.

Ashton has made them plans to have dinner at six so he has to make sure to get all the calls out of the way. God forbid Ashton walks into his dorm to hear him interviewing for a sex job. Well actually, after that conversation at dinner, Luke’s thinking he wouldn’t be that embarrassed. 

Not when he could throw something as character tarnishing as ‘daddy’ back at him. 

Luke finds through his calls that most PSO companies are fairly similar. They ask the same, fast-paced, easy to answer questions like ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Your orientation?’ ‘Can you do any accents?’ ‘What are you willing to do?’ ‘How far are you willing to go?’ 

And the last one is sort of awkward to answer because Luke doesn’t really _know_ what he’s willing to do… or even what he can do. 

Luke’s a pretty vanilla guy when it comes to sex. Not to say that he’s not sexy, he completely is and Michael should know that. But he’s only 19 after all and if it weren’t for three awkward encounters in High School (one of which lasted six minutes max), he’d probably still be a virgin.

But, he figures, it’s over the phone which is a totally different ball game. Sex is a very vulnerable act, isn’t it? Exposing yourself so completely to someone, letting them have their way with your body? Luke is not nearly confident enough for that. Sex is scary as hell, no matter how good it feels. 

But, sex over the phone? Sex with no body dysphoria, where he can make himself sound as pretty as he wants? Sex where he doesn’t have to be touched awkwardly? Where the other person leaves him high and dry? Doesn’t sound half bad to him.

Besides, all he has to do for some guys is say the word ‘cock’ and ‘inside’ and they’ll jizz in their overalls. Sexually frustrated, closeted adult men are pretty easy to get off. 

So, for the time being, Luke’s saying he’ll do pretty much anything. For 500 dollars, there’s not a lot he _wouldn’t_ do.

It’s the fourth company that tells him at the end of the conversation with a soft hum, “Luke, was it?”

“Yes.” Luke is laying on his bed, over top his shitty covers, awkwardly playing with his hoodie string. Well, it’s actually Ashton’s hoodie but… 

The woman on the line makes another contemplative sound to herself. She waits a beat to say, “we don’t have a lot of gay men working for us but we do have our fair share call in… You said you’re nineteen?”

“That’s legal,” Luke blurts, fixing his collar again and again.

The woman chuckles. “I know, honey. This is about your level of experience. You’ve got a good voice and I think this might be a good fit for you and us. But you’ll definitely need some training if you’re hired. We’ll be in touch, okay, sweetie?”

“Yes, yeah, okay.” Luke nods hurriedly. “That sounds great. Thank you.”

And it does sound great. That’s practically a yes. He bites his lip, trying to stop the smile that is forming. He’s trying not to get his hopes up but if this works out… he’ll have a job. A real honest to God source of income to buy clothes and notebooks and pens and plates. 

The only downside is, if he can buy his own, his sweaters won’t smell like Ashton anymore.

***

Luke is in such a good mood when Ashton comes over. Granted, he’s in a good mood whenever Ashton comes over because, well, Ashton’s come over.

Ashton had insisted that if Calum and Michael were off together having the best friend weekend of a lifetime, Luke and he had to do something too to rival them; that something being a tasty-ass meal that Ashton prepares himself for a half-hour in Luke’s musty-ass kitchen with Michael’s pots and pans, whistling and dancing as he does it.

Working at the record shop must be seriously affecting him because Luke didn’t realize how musically talented Ashton is. His whistles are, dare Luke say, perfect. Almost Kill Bill style. Luke would put them on his album when he finally gets to write and produce it. 

They only make Luke’s good mood better and while the casserole is baking in the oven, Luke turns on the radio Michael has on the counter, starting to spin along to the music. 

“Oh?” Ashton asks, glancing at the machine as it starts to sputter out tunes. He raises an eyebrow as it begins to fully play a song, loud with bass and a dark, rough voice. “What the hell is this?”

“I don’t know,” Luke answers, smiling so wide, with a laugh as he does a turn, “it’s Michael’s.”

Ashton grimaces at the radio. “He has shit taste.”

Luke cackles, returning in exasperation, “right? He’s so fucking emo.”

Luke is swaying back and forth to this god-awful music, his cheeks rosy with his smile and the corner of his blue eyes crinkling. He feels like things are going to fall together soon and that is honestly all he needs. Just some order. 

A job, a dinner cooked by Ashton Irwin, and multiple plates for himself.

Ashton watches him with surprise and laughter in his face. “Well, someone’s in a good mood.”

“I am!” Luke agrees emphatically, letting his blonde curls bounce as he moves his head. 

Ashton is leaning against the counter, resting himself on his elbow, keeping one eye on the oven timer. “What’s up?”

And, obviously, Luke can’t tell the sweet/handsome/far-too-loving junior boy next door making him dinner that he may or may not have been hired as a phone sex operator so he bites his tongue and lies, “I got an A on my Organic Chemistry test” when he really got a B.

Still though, Ashton’s eyes widen and he brightens. “Lu, that’s great!”

“I know!” Luke choruses and he jumps up and down on his heels. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mere.”

He beckons Ashton forward with both hands, continuing to move to the heinous beat. Ashton makes a face like he doesn’t understand what’s being asked of him and Luke groans, waving his hands more aggressively, making grabbing motions towards Ashton. 

“Dance with me!” he urges, sounding deprived. 

Ashton shakes his head with a heavy snort. “No way; I don’t dance unless I’m being threatened.”

“ _Ash_.” Luke gives him a pleading look which is definitely a threat and Ashton sighs, defeated. 

He holds up a finger as he pushes off the counter. “Only until my cauliflower is done.”

Luke bounces, exuberant. “That’s all I ask.”

Ashton joins him in the middle of the kitchen’s wooden floor, moving along with the heavy bass coming from Michael’s radio. He looks like such an idiot and it makes Luke smile so big, knowing that Ashton couldn’t care less what he looks like. When he gets to Luke, looping their fingers together, he attempts to do some sort of spin with Luke but he’s not that smooth on his feet and accidentally trips Luke instead. 

They both laugh as Luke staggers. 

“Shit, sorry,” Ashton says as he catches Luke by the arm, pulling him closer. 

“It’s fine.” Luke doesn’t object and, instead, he takes this opportunity to loop his arms around the back of Ashton’s neck, taking Ashton by surprise at the sudden contact. Luke blinks up at him through big baby blue eyes while his smile only gets bigger. 

Ashton’s chest is warm.

They sway together in silence with Luke’s arms wrapped around Ashton’s neck so his fingers graze his hairline, twisting a lock of hair around his thumb, and Ashton’s large hands awkwardly resting on Luke’s sides—careful not to go too far down on his waist. He’s too stiff to be comfortable. 

Luke rolls his eyes and teases, “you’re a horrible dancer.”

“It’s Michael’s shitty music taste,” Ashton protests, flexing his palms against Luke’s ribs. “I’d be great if this were _Suavemente_.”

But Luke knows as he tugs away that Ashton just doesn’t want to stand so close.

***

Dinner that night is eaten on the couch, Luke on one end and Ashton on the other, kicking each other’s sock clad feet every once in a while, and snickering at thin air like anything is funny.

All they talk about that night is music and life and love (nothing important) and Luke wonders if he’s ever met someone before that is as smart as Ashton is. If he’s ever met someone who sees the world so perfectly clear and so beautiful. 

If Luke could do anything, be anything, he would be the way Ashton sees the world. Where it isn’t perfect, and it isn’t good, but it’s grand. Ashton loves the world just for existing and Luke wishes he could maintain that positivity. 

The sweet/handsome/far-too-kind junior next door that sometimes cooks him dinner and gives him sweaters is steadily becoming Luke’s best friend.

Not that he would ever tell Michael; that would make him jealous.

“You know,” Ashton says, nudging Luke’s foot with his own, “guitar lessons weren’t a bad idea.”

Luke smiles at him from the corner of his mouth. “What? You don’t think I’d be a good whore for hire?”

Ashton’s laugh is uncomfortable and he prods Luke’s foot again. “S’not the best career choice.”

“Pays good,” Luke replies, taking a bite of his macaroni. 

“Sure but…” Ashton shakes his head. “I don’t know. Cal and Mike weren’t serious. It’s… you’re better than that.”

Luke frowns. “Sex work is a serious profession.”

Ashton nods and he talks like there’s a bad taste in his mouth which doesn’t make sense because the dinner he made for them is flawless. “I-I know, it’s—I don’t know how to explain it… I think you can do whatever you want but sex-work is… I wouldn’t want you _used_ like that.” 

Luke stops. That’s a nice thought, isn’t it? But it doesn’t really apply, it’s not like Luke is above being used. Not like he deserves better.

***

That Monday, Michael and Calum come home, both hungover and sluggish, their eyes red at the corners and their words spoken in groans of pain, crawling into their respective dorms, disappearing under the covers and missing classes that day.

It’s alright though, because Michael has Luke to take notes for him and Calum has _Ashton_ to make him home remedies and feed him medicine and cook him dinners. Luke would stay home sick everyday if he had Ashton to wait on him. 

They’ll be alright.

***

That next week, an hour and a half into lecture, aimlessly sketching flowers in the margins of his notebook, and eyes that look suspiciously similar to hazel ones, Luke’s phone lights up with a text from a number he doesn’t have a contact for. Usually, he would ignore it, except this time he catches a glance of it and his eyes widen and his jaw drops because holy fucking _shit_.

He jerks his head to the girl sitting next to him (he has no idea what her name is) and blurts quietly, “I got the job.”

“Sorry?” she asks, turning in his direction with confusion on her face.

Luke snaps his jaw shut, knowing that it would not be smart for the first conversation he ever has with this girl to be about his new job as a phone sex operator. No, that would be really weird. And creepy, actually. And may get him expelled. 

So he decides to shrug his shoulders and shakes his head as if to say, ‘what? I didn’t say a word.’

The girl narrows her eyes before focusing on the lecture again. Meanwhile, Luke is practically vibrating in his seat. He’s got the job. He’s actually got the job. 

He has no idea what his professor is saying because his mind is too busy buzzing with the realization.

 _Holy shit,_ he thinks, _I’m gonna be paid to have phone sex_. Which most people wouldn’t be too excited about, but Luke isn’t focusing on the job as much as he is focusing on the _paid_ part.

It sucks how much he wants to tell Mike, Cal, and Ash about this success. But he knows they wouldn’t view it is as such.

Although, before he gets paid, he actually has to learn how to do the job. Which… for a boy who wouldn’t have lost his virginity if he hadn’t had that fourth shot sophomore year, is gonna be interesting.

***

Sierra is a very nice young lady and Luke figures that if he weren’t a flaming homosexual, he would probably be into her. Or, well, into her voice because that’s all he’s been accustomed to.

She is his mentor of sorts in terms of phone-sex, coaching him through dissertation, helping him write the necessary script and be prepared for his first call. Obviously, the only time he has free is after classes and the weekends. 

Over the last week, Luke has been spending every moment he’s not with Ashton/Mike/Cal on the phone with Sierra, trying to learn how to fuck through a phone. Which is a lot harder than he thought because after every erotic line, he always wants to giggle like a five year old.

“It’s acting, Luke,” Sierra insists on the other side of the line. 

Luke has thrown himself over the couch in the living room of their dorm. Michael, Cal, and Ash are all together tonight, out at some bar. Luke doesn’t really feel like he’s missing out. But, at the same time, he’s not loving his current predicament. 

Alone on the couch, listening to a woman preach to him about how to have verbal sex.

“All you have to do is follow the script,” she continues.

“I know.” Luke has the phone balanced between his shoulder and his chin. He’s admiring his nails. 

“So go through it.”

Luke lets out a heavy sigh. He shifts to get comfortable and then he pitches his voice differently, to be what Sierra and he have decided works best, which is breathier but not lower. He needs to sound young, that’s his appeal. 

“Hey, baby—” he always has to try not to laugh on that— “you’ve called 976-LUST, my name’s Luke, who am I speaking with?”

Sierra expressed to him that most girls used different names while working and so he was more than welcome to pick a new name, one more erotic perhaps, but Luke simply doesn’t think he can do that. It would be weird hearing someone say a different name while coming to his voice. He told Sierra it would make him break character too easily. 

So, until further notice, he’ll stay ‘Luke.’ 

He knows to follow up the introduction with praise almost instantly. Stroke the ego, Sierra had said, ask questions but never personal ones about work, job, or marriage. Phone sex does not partake in love. 

“Bruce. Name’s Bruce,” Sierra answers which almost makes Luke laugh but he holds it together. 

“That’s my favorite name for a man,” he purrs, beginning to pick at his nails lazily, “you sound really handsome, Bruce.”

“You sound hot,” Sierra returns and Luke _really_ wants to laugh at her. 

“I am.” 

Probably the hardest part about phone sex is finding himself sexy. You have to build yourself up in phone sex, have to make yourself the fantasy, have to fulfill the day dream. And Luke has never thought of himself in that light before. He was the fat kid at school. He has insecurities coming out his ears.

Sierra said he couldn’t think that way. Absolutely not. And, after some pestering for the first two days of training, she had convinced Luke to send her a photo of himself. 

The one he had picked was one of the few pictures he has where you can see his whole body, gangly legs and all. It’s him and Ashton. Luke is wearing a white shirt with a black jacket, Ashton wearing a black hoodie and sunglasses. Their smiles are goofy and large, Ashton having wrapped his arm around Luke’s shoulders in a jovial manner. 

He told Sierra he was the one with a white shirt and she had whistled loudly into the phone. 

“Luke.” He remembers shrinking at her voice. “You are… fine as _hell_. And your boyfriend is too, holy—”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Luke had interrupted quickly. 

“Oh?” Sierra murmured softly to herself. “Maybe you can slip him my number then because, _damn_.”

That had made Luke laugh because it was exactly right. Especially in that photo with Ashton’s tan curls illuminated, hanging over his forehead, and his dimples on full display, his long fingers resting over Luke’s shoulder.

Although, Sierra had turned the conversation back to him. Of course she had. And then the next two hours were purely compliments. All about making Luke feel pretty, because—as Sierra pointed out—he couldn’t sell himself as sexy until he really thought he was. 

“Definitely masturbate when we hang up,” she had said and Luke had spat out the tea he was drinking. “Or right now on the phone; I wouldn’t mind.”

Luke hadn’t done that, of course, but he’d appreciated the offer. 

All her compliments certainly helped though and Luke has been feeling better about his appearance these days. 

“I’m feeling lonely tonight,” Sierra/Bruce says into the phone and Luke is brought back to the reality that is trying to learn how to have sex via phone. 

“I’m so glad,” Luke answers, checking the clock, “because I’m feeling pretty lonely too.”

 _Don’t ask questions_ , Luke remembers the note, _don’t ask ‘do you want to know how I look?’ and instead say—_

He shifts on the couch, clearing his throat. “Let me describe myself for you, hm?”

“Please do,” Bruce says.

“I’ve got blonde hair. It’s curly.” Luke absently begins playing one of his locks around his fingers despite not being able to be seen. “I bet you’d have a fun time pulling on it, huh?”

“I bet I would.”

“I have blue eyes and long legs.”

“What about that ass?” Sierra asks and Luke snorts. 

He hears Michael in his head and he responds without hesitation, “I’ve got a dumptruck ass.”

It’s Sierra who breaks that time and he hears her let out a loud howl of laughter at the joke. 

“Sierra!” he reprimands, sitting up. “You can’t break character!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she wheezes as she returns to the phone. “Dumptruck? You’ve got a _dumptruck_ ass? Why can’t you say it’s fat or something?”

Luke shrugs, grinning. “Fat doesn’t do it justice.”

“Y’know what, we’re almost done for today,” Sierra says, continuing to chuckle, “I’ll let you go early.”

Luke stands up from his couch, moving to the table where his homework is spread out and waiting. “Thank you, Master.”

“I’m gonna get your first call in this weekend,” she adds and Luke freezes up.

“W-what?” He sits forward. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She sounds sure of this. “I think you’re ready. And if you’re not, we’ll find out and start back at square one.”

“But what about the customer, won’t he—”

“We get calls from about a hundred horny guys every week,” Sierra says matter-of-factly, bored beyond belief, “what’s one with blue balls? That’s showbiz, baby.”

***

Luke can’t pay attention in Chemistry at all that week. Not even when Michael throws a paper airplane at him from the back of the class. He lets it hit him in the head and move on. Nothing from the real world is penetrating his mind right now.

He’s too busy thinking about sex. 

More importantly, he’s thinking about Sierra telling him to think about sex.

Keep things sexy, she said, never ask unless they prompt you.

_I have a secret to tell you—I’m not wearing any underwear._

_I’m so glad you called because I’ve just been lying here watching porn and I’m getting so horny. I haven’t had sex even once today, it’s long overdue._

Be descriptive. Timing. Assertive and erotic voice. 

_When was the last time you fucked a hot boy?_

1) Greeting

2) What is your interest or fetish?

3) Go into your description (Think: where am I going to take him, which scenario)

4) Start the scenario (no chit chat)

a) pace yourself

b) be detailed and descriptive

c) ego stroke & praise

“Mr. Hemmings?”

_Say my name._

“Mr. Hemmings.”

Remind them how beautiful you are. 

“ _Mr. Hemmings_!”

Luke jerks back into reality to find his class looking at him expectantly, his professor glaring, hands on hips. He shifts forward in his seat, tugging on his sleeve as he stutters out, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

His professor’s eyes narrow. “I asked you a question, Mr. Hemmings.”

And it takes everything Luke has not to reply, _I would_ love _to moan for you._

***

The best dish Ashton makes is Chicken Carbonara, without a doubt. He should be famous for it, honestly. It’s sweet but not too much so and it’s savory but not too rich, and when Ashton tells Luke he’s going to make it, Luke’s mouth doesn’t stop watering for the next two hours.

Calum, Michael, Ash and he are all around the table in Ashton’s dorm as Ashton plates food for each of them (when they could easily do it themselves) and makes little comments about how each of them are doing a really great job existing. 

Ashton is a positive ball of energy like that and he likes to constantly tell the other boys how life is a blessing. At first, it confused Luke but now… he’s starting to believe it.

It’s T-minus fifteen hours until Luke’s first call and his knee is shaking beneath the table with anticipation. When Ashton leans over to give him his plate, he seems to notice how jittery the younger is and he lowers his voice whispering so only Luke and he can hear (Luke feels Ashton’s breath against his cheek), “hey, you okay?”

Luke nods in a rush. “Yeah, yeah, of course I am.”

Ashton takes it as an acceptable answer but he doesn’t seem convinced as he sits in his own chair at the head of the table. 

“So.” He claps his hands, beaming at the other three. “Any fun plans this weekend, kids?”

“I’m gonna get shitfaced,” Michael answers as Calum replies, “I’m so getting laid on Saturday.”

Ashton sighs, the excitement draining from his body, slumping in irritation. “I was hoping you were gonna say something like, ‘knitting,’ or ‘taking up pottery.’ But no. No, you want to disappoint God.”

“You really ask too much of us,” Calum says through a smirk as Michael nods his head, stuffing his mouth with chicken. Luke worries he’s going to choke. 

“Not Luke though,” Ashton chides, glancing up, and there’s something about it that makes him sound like a proud father as he peers across from him to where Luke is sitting, his nervous leg bouncing up and down so hard it almost hits the bottom of the table. “Right, Luke? What’re you doing this weekend?”

Luke blinks. 

_What is your favorite sexual position and why? Do you like oral sex? What is the most sensitive spot on your body?_

He shrugs, picking at his chicken as he answers, “just studying, honestly.”

***

Luke probably hyped up his first call too much. He should have known Sierra was going to give him an easy one for his first time and he’s perhaps too prepared and part of him feels like his newly developed talents are being wasted on Doug.

But that doesn’t matter because it proves he can do it. And he does. He does it very, very well. 

Keeps his voice in the acceptable register. Doesn’t mess up by asking personal questions. Uses pet names. Lies the entire time beautifully and fake moans with the skill of a seasoned pro. And, he manages to finish his math homework at the same time. 

After his first satisfied customer hangs up, Luke pulls out his brand new notebook (Sierra told him it was very important to keep detailed notes) and scribbles _Doug_ at the top. Then, beneath it, _likes being called sugar._

He writes all notable moments from the call and then closes the grey book. His eyes rest the cover a moment. It’s one of the notebooks that Ashton got him. And, for a brief second, Luke feels so fucking dirty that he wants to crawl out of his own skin and slither away into the darkness, a soul and nothing else, ready to be swallowed up by sin. 

His phone beeps with a text from Sierra. 

_Guess who’s six dollars richer, my friend. And, hey, not bad for a first timer!_

The guilt drains away, and Luke starts deciding what color plate he’s going to get.

***

The calls begin to roll in during the weekends and Luke starts to spend every Friday and Saturday night lounging on his bed, eyelids drooped half shut, massaging the band of his sweatpants while random ass men pant their gratitude in his ears.

He is getting remarkably good at fake orgasms.

It’s not so hard, really. Sierra had told him there’s no shame in actually getting himself off with them but that isn’t something Luke is keen to do. That feels so wrong, coming with someone he doesn’t know without even touching them. Just hearing them? There’s no intimacy to that. 

Not that there’s really any intimacy to phone sex in general, and technically by doing this for his job and doing it so frequently, Luke is sort of ruining sex for himself as a whole. 

He’s honestly been extremely _less_ horny since this all started, which he can’t tell is a good thing or not. 

He’s not any less horny for Ashton, so probably a bad thing. In fact, this is making Luke realize how much he hates all men except for Mike, Cal, and Ashton. 

But what he knows _is_ a good thing is, he’s starting to look at the mirror—at the blonde, blue eyed man that stares back at him through the reflection—a whole lot differently. 

Especially after one caller—Jim—told him about twenty minutes in, his voice strained and his breath coming in labored sounds, “fuck, I bet you’d look so good in leather.”

And Luke had thought to himself, _yeah_. Yeah, he probably would. 

So he spends his first official paycheck on a pair of black leather pants that have a stark red stripe down their sides because fuck plates, and Luke’s been told he’ll look good in leather and he wants to find out. A month ago, he never would have even considered buying pants like these; they don’t leave much to the imagination. 

But now. Right now. Gazing at himself in his closet door mirror, dolled up in a white shirt, leather pants, and a black jacket… He’s starting to understand the appeal. 

Sierra was right. He’s fine as hell.

When he walks out of the dorm to go to Chem with Michael by his side, Calum and Ashton are in the living room, playing a game on Michael’s TV (he’s the only one with an Xbox), bumping shoulders every now and again.

Calum is seemingly very invested in the game while Ashton is smiling lopsidedly, playing at his leisure.

“Hey guys,” Luke greets as he walks to the door where his boots are waiting. They aren’t new but he’s never worn them around campus. They’re usually for formal settings, like funerals, but Luke is thinking they’ll match his outfit today better than sneakers will.

“Hey, Lu—” Calum’s voice dies off there as he turns to see Luke zipping up his shiny black shoes. Luke doesn’t really understand why Calum stopped so he smiles kindly as he straightens back up. 

“Okay, bye guys.” He opens the door for Michael who bows in thanks. “I’ll see you later!”

Calum and Ashton sit on the couch in silence, staring at him, and Calum has nothing but shock on his face whereas Ashton looks… Luke can’t exactly pinpoint it. Probably confusion at the new aesthetic. But his lips are parted in an ‘o,’ his eyebrows are raised, and his cheeks are pink. 

“Y-yeah,” Ashton mumbles and he wets his lips. “See you then.”

Luke takes that in stride and he leaves the dorm with Michael, hearing the door click shut behind him, his boots making the same crisp sound on the asphalt as they walk. 

Luke feels… really fucking good right now.

Michael sends a quick glance over his shoulder once they are out of earshot and all the way down the hall before he starts belly laughing.

“What?” Luke asks, shocked. 

The fear is instant that he’s misjudged everything and he really is horrendously ugly and has no business wearing this outfit and God, what was he even _thinking_ when he put it on—

“Dude—” Michael wipes the corner of his eye— “Even _Ash_ was checking out your ass in those pants. _Damn_. You look like a slut.”

Blush crawls, hot and burning, up Luke’s neck and he plays it off as nerves and bashful, flattered energy with a hesitant laugh and an elbow to Michael’s side.

“Yeah, right,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets

But in the back of his head, a cocky voice goes, _yeah… that’s right_.

***

His notebook pages are getting filled with male names as the days progress.

Mike likes loud, rough. 

Charlie likes calling Luke ‘his little whore.’ 

Greg is lonely and honestly only wants someone to talk with a sensual voice.

Francis likes to chit-chat. Then he likes hearing Luke talk about how attractive he is. Which is especially dumb because Luke’s never seen him before. But hey, that’s showbiz, baby.

***

Calum’s acting different around Luke.

It isn’t too much of a change but Luke notices that whenever he catches a glimpse of Calum, the other man’s eyes are already trained on him. As if he’s watching to see what Luke will do next. What he’ll do wrong. But his _attitude_ hasn’t changed towards Luke. He’s the same guy but… something’s changed and Luke doesn’t know what.

***

Ashton and he listen to Abbey Road by The Beatles on Sunday afternoon, several weeks after Luke’s job first began. They’re sprawled out on Luke’s bedroom floor, their hands over top their chests, raising up and down with their breathing, and their eyes focused on the ceiling, counting the specks of paint that are clumped oddly, their hair spread out like crowns behind their heads.

“Definitely their best album,” Ashton says after a moment of deliberation.

Luke presses his lips together. “I could debate.”

Ashton is quick to roll over onto his side to look down at Luke, cocking a brow, and forming his mouth into a smirk. “You won’t.”

Luke tilts his head to see him better. His eyes dart over Ashton’s face. Those dimples. Burning hazel eyes. His jaw is sharp and Luke thinks that if this were a call, he would tell Ashton how badly he wants to lean forward and suck a hickey on the skin where his neck is attached to his jaw. How sensitive he bets it is there. How he’ll leave a bruise, big and bold and blue, so everyone can see that Ashton belongs to someone. How he plans to leave another mark on Ashton’s collarbone which is peaking out of his t-shirt. If this were a call, he would tell Ashton that he wants to paint him black and blue all over with his lips if he could.

“You’re right.” Luke lets out a shaky exhale, tugging his eyes away. “I won’t.”

***

Luke decides that his least favorite customer is Charlie and it’s the worst because Charlie is his most frequent. Sierra said that he’s taken a real liking to Luke and only calls during the times he knows Luke is working. Which, would be nice, if he were one of the tamer guys.

If he were one of the guys that just needs to feel a little less alone. All they want is sweet vanilla nothings whispered in their ears while they stroke themselves to a simple, satisfying end. 

Not Charlie. 

Charlie wants Luke to scream for him. Every time. Wants Luke to call him ‘sir’ and refers to Luke as a bitch, or a slut, or a dirty whore. 

Luke isn’t fond of any of those names. But honestly, at this point, he dislikes it even more when Charlie calls him ‘Luke.’ 

He regrets ever using his real name now because there’s nothing more chilling than Charlie saying, “that’s right. Scream for me, Luke. I want to hear you hurt. Fucking sob.” 

Sometimes, after those calls, Luke lays in his bed, staring at his ceiling and forgets to fall asleep.

The only thing that makes it better is listening to Abbey Road.

***

Michael has taken up dating a girl in their Chem class named Crystal—funny enough, the girl who Luke almost told when he got the job—who Calum has pointed out multiple times is far too good for him (‘no girl _that_ hot would want to date you! Has she seen me yet?’).

This means he’s in Luke and his dorm room far less than usual and Luke has more hours free to work which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because, on one hand, money. On the other hand… work. 

He makes sure to tell Sierra not to mention his new available new hours to Charlie. She’s a saint, and thus, respects his wishes. 

Calum asks Michael, while sitting next to him on the sofa with a controller in hand, “when’s the wedding?”

“We’ve been dating for two weeks, jackass,” Michael grunts, shoving him to the side which Calum calls as a foul and says they need to start the game over because Michael’s made him lose his focus.

Luke is hanging out at the kitchen table with his computer open to his English notes, studying for a test he is most definitely going to fail, and Ashton is passing him the glass of tea he didn’t ask for. 

Luke tries to turn the drink down, confused as all hell, but Ashton simply shakes his head, pushes it back to Luke with force, and mouths while tapping his heart, ‘it’s good for the soul.’ 

He flashes a wink when he walks away.

Luke’s heart warms as he takes a sip of it. Ah. The way his soul instantly feels better. Ashton must be a miracle worker. 

“Okay, wait, Mike, I have one more question,” Calum pipes up and all eyes in the room turn to him. He drums his fingers over his controller, as if he’s really contemplating something. “Where does Crystal keep your balls? Like, are they in a glass display case or…?”

“Oh, you bitch,” Michael shouts, lunging at Calum and tackling him onto the ground. They roll across the carpet, Calum’s controller forgotten on the couch cushion.

Ashton pinches the bridge of his nose, bracing himself against the counter. “One fucking day… Is that too much?” 

“Yes.” Luke offers him the reminder of his glass of tea. “Here, it’s good for your soul.”

Ashton laughs and accepts the gift as though it’s something so thoughtful. And that makes Luke realize, he needs to do something for Ash that’s better for the soul than a glass of lukewarm tea.

***

Luke decides that he’s going to make Ashton dinner with one of his paychecks. It’s the least he can do after all. Ashton has done so fucking much for him; he has to show is appreciation somehow. Someway.

So, Thursday after classes, he shows up at Ashton’s door, bouncing on his heels.

Ashton pulls it open, a frown balanced on his face and his glasses slipping down his nose, but the moment he sees Luke it drains away and he perks up, flashing that sweetheart white grin of his.

“Hey, Lu, what’s up?”

“I want to make you dinner,” Luke says with no precursors, confident. 

Ashton’s eyes widen in surprise and he opens his mouth before closing it and blinking. His hazel eyes are so big and round and Luke watches them closely, all of Ashton’s thoughts displayed in the way they stare. 

“Uh.” Ashton rings out his hands. “You do?”

Luke nods. “Yeah, sure. I mean, you make dinner for us so often I just feel like it would be a nice change—”

“I like cooking,” Ashton says, brow furrowing.

“I know.” Luke laughs gently. “I want to pay you back.”

And that’s when Ashton’s gaze shifts a bit, angling his hazel eyes to the side, out of Luke’s sharp blue stare, and he says, hesitantly, “listen, Luke, I know that…”

“You know that what?” Luke prompts, starting to frown.

“I know that you’re having money problems.” Ashton glances back up and it’s like he’s worried about hurting Luke’s feelings. But what? How could he hurt Luke’s feelings? Luke’s aware of his money problems, and he’s not embarrassed of them by any stretch, he just doesn’t want the other guys to pity him or feel like he’s a burden.

Luke stares at him. “Yeah?”

“And,” Ashton annunciates, “I don’t want you to waste anything on me.”

Which doesn’t make any goddamn sense because nothing spent on Ashton would ever be wasted and Luke says as much in his rough exhale and his folded arms.

“I like cooking you dinner!” Ashton insists and there’s a soft chuckle lying beneath his words as he fiddles with one of his wrists that is wrapped in a series of black bracelets. “And I like giving you clothes; I mean you look a lot better in my shit than I do and—”

“I’m not saying you have to stop,” Luke interrupts, “I’m saying that, in return for all that niceness, I’d like to make you dinner? God, why are you so dramatic?”

Ashton chortles and Luke can’t help but notice that he really has the nicest dimples when he smiles, they’re so deep and Luke thinks it would be a lot of fun to kiss them. “I’m not.”

“You are.” Luke grins. “I’m surprised you’re not a theatre major.”

“Y’know, I thought about it.” Ashton massages the base of his neck with a hand and Luke watches how his fingers press into the skin. If this were a call, there’s a whole list of things he could say about that and they’re rolling through his brain at light speed.

As much as he’s been hearing about sex lately… his world view has been shifting more and more everyday. In terms of his view of himself, and of others. Almost every touch from people close to him has felt intimate the last few weeks even if it’s merely a passing hand on the shoulder. 

Especially when it comes from Ashton. Everything seems too intimate with him, even down to the way he smiles at Luke.

God, the other day he had rested his hand on the small of Luke’s back while they were standing together and that gesture alone, the weight of Ashton’s large hand on his spine, had been enough to make Luke start to sweat. 

“So when’s dinner?” Ashton asks and his expression is so kind.

“Mike has some family stuff to take care of this weekend so my dorm’s empty,” Luke proposes. “Does Saturday work for you?”

“Sure.” Ashton nods, gesturing back to his room. “I think Cal is free then too so—”

Perhaps Luke interrupts too fast. “Actually, I was hoping it could just be us.”

Which is weird. It’s weird because when Ashton and Luke hang out alone it’s only because Calum and Michael have other stuff to do. It’s never been exclusively arranged that Ashton and Luke are going to hang out on purpose alone, on purpose without the others, on purpose together.

Ashton’s brow furrows a tad and there’s a hesitance to his voice as he sways back on his heels. “O-oh. Okay.”

Oh, shit. 

Luke’s brain short circuits. He worries that he’s been an absolute idiot. Of course Ashton wasn’t into him or anything like that and Luke knew that—Ashton is straight, for sure—but now Luke is worried he’s misjudged their friendship entirely. What if they aren’t as close as he thought they were? What if Ashton is just nice to everyone? What if he doesn’t want to even hang out with Luke? What if he—

“Like… On a date?” Ashton asks and his eyebrows are drawn up so high, his forehead creased, and he looks so conflicted by the implication that Luke feels himself start to sweat.

“No, of course not,” Luke replies and he makes sure to scoff loudly at the end of his statement to accentuate what he means, “as friends.”

“Yeah, right, of course. Sorry.” Ashton nods, collecting the information. “Okay, then Saturday’s all good. I guess I’ll come by your dorm around… say seven?”

“Yeah, sounds awesome,” Luke agrees and he doesn’t understand why he feels so nervous. They’re friends hanging out. Why are his palms getting clammy as Ashton and he exchange quick goodbyes and the door clicks shut?

***

“You’re disgusting!” Calum is screaming as Luke walks into their dorm room. His finger is pointing menacingly at Michael who is standing in the middle of their living room, wrapped in a blanket and nothing else.

“I am not!” Michael shouts back, holding the blanket protectively around himself. “I'm—”

“You’re a fucking slut!” Calum’s face is red. 

“I’m a man!”

Calum roars, “same thing!” 

Luke slowly shuts the door behind himself, holding his phone in one hand that has the text message from Ashton that says _SOS._ He glances around the room to find the man in question standing in the kitchen, revulsion apparent on his face. 

“What the hell happened?” Luke asks in a normal tone, not moving from the door way. 

All eyes turn to him and Calum’s are bloodshot. 

“Oh!” He scoffs loud and so hard Luke worries it hurts his throat. “You wanna fucking now? You wanna know what happened?”

“I had sex on his bed,” Michael says. 

“Michael had _sex_ ,” Calum shrieks, “on _my_ bed!”

Michael throws one arm in the air. “Where else was I supposed to do it?”

“In your _own_!” Calum looks like he might faint. 

Michael smirks. “Cal, you asked me to show you where Crystal keeps my balls. Boom. There you go.”

Calum is so red in the face he might explode and Luke stands there, bewildered, not sure what he’s supposed to do with this information at all. Apparently, even as a psych major, Ashton doesn’t either because he is keeping as far back as possible. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Calum seethes. 

Michael folds his arms back over his blanket. “You’re just jealous I’m having more sex in your bed than you are.”

Calum’s jaw practically unhinges with how wide his mouth opens. “That is so not true. I have so much sex on that bed. I fuck _daily_ on that bed. Ashton!” He snaps his fingers at Ashton in the kitchen. “Tell him! Tell him I have sex on my bed!”

Ashton stares back at him blankly. “No comment.”

“Fuck you!” Calum snaps back to which Ashton offers a shrug and an apologetic smile. Calum looks back at Michael who is sneering at him like a fox. “That doesn’t count, you know that doesn’t count.”

“It sounds like someone’s a little sexually frustrated,” Michael says with an exaggerated pout and Luke literally has no idea what he’s supposed to do in this situation, pressing himself against the door frame.

“I’m not!” Calum wails. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Michael admonishes, “Luke and Ash are too.”

In unison, Luke and Ashton bark, “what!”

“Oh c’mon!” Michael tilts his head. “Half-virgin and ‘wait until marriage,’ as if you two aren’t dying to get some.”

“I’m not a virgin!” Luke yells as Ashton says, “and I’m not waiting for marriage, what the fuck?”

“None of us are sexually frustrated!” Calum rounds on Michael. “We just don’t go flaunting our dicks around everywhere we go because it’s our only personality trait!’

“It’s not my only.” Michael gives a dramatic sigh. “I’m also very annoying.”

“Yes.” Ashton agrees from the kitchen. “That’s true. And you have no manners.”

“And you don’t respect people’s personal property,” Luke adds, nodding towards Calum’s soiled bedroom.

“And you’re a bitch,” Calum says.

Michael shrugs, smiling at them. “Hey, at least I’m not sexually frustrated. You guys seriously need to loosen up. So I had sex on Cal’s bed, big whoop? I’d let any of you have sex on mine.”

“Michael, that is _weird_ ,” Ashton says in alarm. 

Michael scoffs at him. “Oh, sure. Maybe for you, Mr. Sex-is-a-serious-step-in-intimacy-and-shouldn’t-be-treated-like-a-hobby.”

Ashton shakes his head, at a loss. “Is that an insult?”

“All I’m saying is, you all—” Michael waves a hand at them— “Need to get laid and stop being such prudes. I’m not apologizing.”

Luke can’t even believe him. 

Calum gets a sharp intake of breath. 

“Michael,” he says, “I’m gonna put you in a headlock.”

Michael’s face falls. “No, you’re not.”

Calum starts forward. “I’m gonna put you in a headlock and if you don’t apologize, I’m gonna knock you out.”

“Fuck! No, please!” Michael shouts, turning to run, but it’s too late because Calum is remarkably fast and athletic and within a second he has flung himself onto Michael, tackling him to the ground. 

“Say it!” Calum screams, pinning one of Michael’s hands behind his back while Michael shouts out random curses and ‘nevers’. “I swear to God, Michael!”

Slowly, Luke walks over to Ashton who is standing stone still in the kitchen. 

“So,” Luke says, swinging his arms, “marriage?”

Ashton snorts hard, keeping his eyes on Michael and Calum tumbling around together, Michael’s blanket dangerously close to revealing everything. “He’s kidding. I just… don’t have sex often.”

He glances at Luke from the corner of his eyes, and suddenly it seems to dawn on him who he’s talking to because he shuts up and turns away, eyes vacant. 

“I hope Cal doesn’t kill him,” Ashton mutters and that must mean the end of the previous question. 

Luke nods. “That would be so annoying. Think of how awkward the funeral would be.”

“And the hearing,” Ashton agrees, “we’d definitely go away for being accomplices.”

Luke smiles softly. 

It’s okay, they don’t have to. Michael squawks a frantic apology when his arm lets out a dangerous pop.

***

Luke tells Sierra he is off the clock on Saturday. Consider him sick, out of town, out of commission. Dead, even. Saturday is _his_ day.

Of course, though, she says no. Luke probably shouldn’t be surprised, but he’s disappointed. 

“But I’m making Ashton dinner,” he whines into the receiver and Sierra scoffs. 

“And you say he’s not your boyfriend.” She doesn’t let Luke argue. “I’m not gonna give you the night off just because you want to cook dinner.”

“But I won’t be able to—” Luke protests. 

“Take calls while you’re cooking dinner; it’s not hard. I’ve done it while painting my nails,” Sierra replies flatly and Luke hates that idea. He hates the idea of chopping squash with his phone cushioned on his shoulder, saying things like, ‘yeah, I’m so hot for you’ while he’s really hot for absolutely nothing and really only cares about his béchamel sauce. 

Luke wants to bitch and whine about how horrible that sounds but he decides against it and instead, lets his body slump and sighs out a grumpy, “fine.”

“There’s a good boy,” Sierra praises before she hangs up. 

For a single moment, Luke hates her.

***

He certainly hates her even more when Saturday rolls around and he’s having phone sex while he collects ingredients on the table.

He’s already had two calls today, one lasting significantly longer than he would have liked and he pushes his phone into his pocket with a grunt.

Luke is going to cook the best meal Ashton has ever had in his entire life, that is a fact. Although, there is one minor roadblock. Luke can’t cook for shit. 

It’s not like he’s a lost cause but staring down at his cookbook, holding a wooden spoon in his hand with his hip cocked out, he feels like an idiot for thinking he was equipped to do this. 

For fuck’s sake, the man only has one plate for himself. Tonight, he is commandeering Michael’s pots and pans and silverware and plates because he can and Michael can’t stop him. Besides, it’s not like he’ll ever know. Luke will discreetly wash them and tuck them away in their respective cupboard before Michael is ever the wiser.

Luke flips through his cookbook with a furrowed brow, confused out of his goddamn mind. It suddenly seems like he can’t read English. Could he ever read English? He swears it sounded different than this… 

He bought everything he thinks is necessary to cook a good meal and his Butternut Squash Lasagna is going to be _excellent_ by dammit, if he can just find the recipe he marked in his book and remember what words mean. 

“You’re sort of an idiot,” he tells himself, which his-self agrees to. “I could have sworn I—aha!”

He finally finds his recipe, and heaves a great sigh of relief because now he can finally get this show on the road and make the best damn meal Ashton will ever consume. 

Well… 

He stares down at the picture in the book, blinking long and slow and sluggish. 

“Damn it,” he whispers, “I’ve totally overestimated this.” 

But he does his best to collect the necessary materials and soon enough he is leaning over his counter, the sleeves of his sweater bunched up at his elbows, while he carefully chops butternut squash. 

The orange of it is so vibrant and he finds it making him smile as he cuts it apart. 

It’s as he’s loading the chunks of squash into a bowl that his phone starts ringing. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he groans, pulling his phone from his pocket, checking the caller ID. And, of course, it’s what he thinks it is. Attached with a text from Sierra that says, _he’s new so be on your best behavior! Said he wanted a blonde!_ Which is dumb as shit because it’s not like the caller can see him. Any of their workers could have lied and _said_ they were blonde. Why does Luke have to be authentic?

Part of him wants to decline the call entirely. Just say to hell with it, this is his and Ashton’s night and he needs to focus on his lasagna, but the other part knows he needs to keep his job so he wills himself to man up and he answers the call. 

He puts the phone up to his ear, fixing on his most sultry, ‘blonde’ voice, “hey, baby—”

He doesn’t even get to the second half of the line because the voice on the other side of the receiver lets out a wheeze. 

“Oh shit,” the voice says, “right into it then.”

Luke isn’t bothered by any means, in fact, he kind of finds it funny, so he replies, “well, you aren’t paying for chit-chat are you? Don’t want to waste your time.”

“No, I guess I’m not,” the man says and it’s odd because his voice sounds familiar, “just expected a little more, I don’t know—”

“Foreplay?”

“Introduction.”

Luke chuckles under his breath. “Well we can do that too.”

“Sorry,” the voice says, “I’ve never done this before and I’m not really… yeah, I’m not any good at it which has to be annoying for you. Sorry; I’m not giving you a lot to work with.”

“We can take things as slow as you want, don’t worry. I love to think I’m popping your phone-sex cherry,” Luke answers, keeping his voice low and velvety. “What’s your name, baby?”

 _That’s so weird_ , he thinks to himself as he talks, _y’know, this guy almost sounds like—_

“Ashton.”

Luke drops his mixing spoon on the floor. 

“S-sorry, what was that?”

“Ashton. Irwin.”

_Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, no way. There’s no way in fuck._

There is no fucking way that Ashton Irwin called into a phone sex hotline and there is even less way he happened to call into the hotline Luke works for and there is even, _even_ less way that Sierra happened to transfer him to _Luke_ of all people. 

But then, he thinks, Ashton probably told Sierra his name and Sierra recognized the name from when Luke talked about him and she’s a smart gal so she put two and two together and for her own sick amusement, she took the liberty of sending Ashton to Luke’s line. 

Luke’s having trouble breathing. 

Because now he’s thinking, does he reveal himself? Does he say, ‘fuck Ash, this is so embarrassing. I’m so sorry, but this is Luke.’ But if he does that, Ashton will know what his job is. Luke, in no world, wants Ashton to know what he does in his free time, as much as sex apparently means to him. 

It would also be embarrassing as hell for Ashton. Because no one wants you to know that they were _calling_ the sex line. (Speaking of, why the fuck is Ashton calling a sex line in the first place? Ashton isn’t the kind to do that.) Either way, it’ll be a serious rift in their friendship. It may very well ruin it. 

_Oh fuck._

Luke has to run with this, doesn’t he?

“Ashton,” he repeats, trying to keep his voice level as he reaches down to pick up his spoon, “that’s a nice name.”

The earlier sensuality has left his voice but he manages to keep his register lower to be less recognizable. His brain won’t stop chanting, _oh fuck. Oh no._ And his heart is hammering in his chest. 

“Oh, I’m sure you say that to all the boys,” Ashton teases and how can he sound so sweet when he called into a sex hotline? That doesn’t make any sense. 

“You’re right,” Luke answers. He’s so fucking scared. “But I think I like yours best.”

He has to play a character. He can’t let on that anything’s the matter. This has to be a normal call. It has to be. No matter who is on the other end. No matter that it’s Ashton, the cute, hazel-eyed junior boy next door who cooks him dinner and gives him sweaters.

The boy who Luke is _currently_ cooking dinner for. 

Oh f u c k.

“So,” Ashton asks and it sounds almost nervous, “what’s your name?”

“Whatever you wanna call me,” Luke says instantly as a means of escape.

“Hmm.” Ashton doesn’t make any further comment about it but he sounds displeased. 

There’s a brief, couple second pause and Luke wants to literally kill himself because he knows he’s the one who’s supposed to carry this conversation further. He knows this is his job. It’s literally his job to do this. 

“So, Ashton,” Luke starts and the name sounds thick on his tongue in a way it never has before, “why’d you call tonight?”

“Oh.” Ashton makes a small sound. “Sorta embarrassing… see, I’m seeing this guy tonight and… yeah it’s not like a date or anything—”

Is he talking about…?

“He’s like my best friend but uh… yeah…” Luke can picture Ashton pacing around his dorm, rubbing the back of his neck where his Condor tattoo is. “It’s hard to explain and it’s not something I really wanna get into with a sex worker, no offense or anything, what you do is very respectable and—”

Luke smiles fondly to himself. 

“The bottom line is—” Ashton takes a steadying breath— “I’m stressed, my friends keep talking about sex all the time and it’s starting to…” He laughs like he finds himself stupid for saying this— “I’m sorta… _pent up_ right now and I’m trying to keep myself from doing something stupid. I figure this is a good way to… to keep myself in check, y’know? To express that tension.”

Luke doesn’t really understand what ‘something stupid’ means but Ashton is already past that so he doesn’t get to ask, and none of it makes sense to him actually; all he’s gathering from this is that Ashton is horny because Calum and Michael don’t shut up about sex all the time, which he guesses is understandable. He doesn’t really get what mentioning… _him_ had to do with it. Because, Ashton _was_ mentioning him, wasn’t he?

Maybe Luke is overthinking. 

He swallows. He’s trying to remember the script in his head. He can’t break character. He can’t. Oh god, he’s in too deep now; he has to play this out. He has to do this. 

He’ll never be able to look at himself in the mirror again. 

“Alright, let’s see what I can do about that,” Luke says. He’s never going to forgive himself for this. He feels so dirty. “What’re you doing right now?”

“Uh.” Ashton makes an awkward noise. “I’m in my dorm room. My roommate’s gone out with a girl, of course. So I’m just… I’m alone.”

Luke thinks of Ashton, only a room away (thank God these walls are thick) sitting on his couch, the phone pressed to his ear, listening to Luke attempt to do his job. 

_Get into character. Get into character. Get into character._

“What do you _want_ to be doing?”

Ashton makes another less than normal sound from his throat. “Oh. Uh. I don’t know, I—”

“Do you want to touch yourself?” Luke finds his mouth asking and God, if he doesn’t want to curl up in a tiny ball and crawl away from the rest of the world. To have never existed at all. He’s about to have phone sex with his best friend. Oh god. He’s about to—He can’t think straight. 

Ashton is silent for a moment before he repeats, “do I?”

“It’s what you called for, isn’t it?” 

Right? That’s the whole point of this hotline. Luke has braced himself against the counter, white knuckling the edge of it to keep himself steady. He’s holding the phone in a vice grip in the other hand, his cooking forgotten. 

Ashton exhales. “I guess it is. I don’t really know how this works—”

“Let me tell you.” Luke is currently leaving his body. He cannot be later held accountable for anything that is said in this conversation. He’s going on autopilot. “This is a sex hotline, okay? And I’m here to make you feel good. So let’s talk. What’re you into, Ash?”

There’s a hint of genuine curiosity there, because whenever Calum and Michael talk about sex, Ashton tends to brush them off. And now with the whole ‘marriage’ idea coming up, Luke genuinely doesn’t know what gets Ashton off or if he even attempts to get off.

Now there’s a whole new thought running through Luke’s brain that is so disgusting and he definitely shouldn’t be having it, but now he gets to know what Ashton likes during sex… he gets to know something as intimate as that… something he’s always wanted to know. 

If Luke plays his cards right… he’s going to get to hear things from Ashton he’ll never get to otherwise. Forget being embarrassed, this is an opportunity.

“I like boys,” Ashton mutters and it’s under the breath, so much smaller than Luke’s used to, even when Ashton is giving advice and talking about serious subjects. It’s so quiet, so withdrawn, and it sounds like a secret. 

Luke’s heart is beating oddly in his chest like it isn’t really meant to be there and needs to escape. Ashton… likes boys? Since when? Since fucking when has Ashton Irwin been anything other than straight? But now that Luke’s really thinking about… he’s never actually seen Ashton with a girl. In fact, he’s never actually seen Ashton with _anyone_.

“Does anybody know that?” Luke asks and he can’t help the softer edge that has entered his voice. 

“My best friend, Cal,” Ashton answers and Luke tries not to be offended that Calum knows Ashton isn’t straight and never told him. He’s even more offended that _Ashton_ never told him, because honestly, what the hell? Luke’s gay as gay can be. He has pride stickers on his backpack. Why didn’t Ashton think he could come to him with this? What, does he not seem trustworthy enough? Are he and Ashton not close enough to have that conversation yet? 

This isn’t even for phone-sex sake’s, this is for Luke, “have you ever been with a boy before?”

“Yeah,” Ashton answers and Luke tries to will away the gigantic sprout of jealousy that grows up through his stomach at the single word, “it was only once though and I was really fucking—yeah, that’s actually why I don’t drink anymore.”

Now Luke feels like a royal idiot because he didn’t even know Ashton was sober. Sure, when they go out Ashton only ever orders virgin cocktails or cokes but Luke never… he just never put two and two together. He feels like a terrible friend tonight. But that’s a conversation for a different time, Luke has to focus on the task at hand. Which is… trying to get his best friend off via an anonymous telephone sex line.

Ah, the modern age. 

“Do you remember it?” Luke asks. He flexes his fingers on the countertop. 

“Bits and pieces,” Ashton answers. “I remember that his eyes were blue, and that was honestly all I cared about. I was having some… thoughts… that day, and I needed to get them out of my head. All I really needed from him was blue eyes.”

Luke frowns. That doesn’t sound like Ashton at all. Ashton is so caring and forthcoming. Luke can’t imagine him using someone. It simply doesn’t compute in his brain. 

But he’s here to play a part, so he asks, “what was his body like?”

Ashton takes a moment to deliberate. “Soft. I liked it, for sure. I like the way boys feel. I like their bodies. I like blue eyes and blonde hair and long legs.”

Luke shifts on his feet. That sounds… well that sounds sort of like… 

“I liked the sounds he made. The way his stomach shifted when he breathed. How he moved under me.” Ashton inhales sharply. There’s some static like he’s shuffling. The next phrase is shallow. “I liked being inside him.”

And, oh okay. Oh shit. That wasn’t something Luke expected to hear and a sudden bead of sweat has appeared on his temple that he doesn’t remember being there, and his chest tightens in a way it hadn’t before. Because, _wow_. Oh, wow.

Luke grips the counter edge hard enough that his fingers burn. Because now the visual is starting to grow in his brain, it’s starting to burrow itself into his subconscious. 

Of course Luke has thought about it. He’s had a crush on Ashton forever. Of course he’s had daydreams and nightmares and of course he’s imagined what it’s like to kiss Ashton, what it’s like to hold his hand, to fool around with him. Of course he’s thought of intimate things. But to hear them… to _hear_ Ashton say those words in such a low register… Luke feels a shiver crawling down his spine and he tries not to make a sound he’ll regret. 

“What about it?” Luke asks and he’s holding his breath, leaning over the counter.

“How warm he was,” Ashton answers and it sounds like he has really contemplated it. “I liked being able to feel his spine, to hold his waist. I liked kissing his shoulders.”

And now it’s in Luke’s head. The image. So stark. So strong. 

Laying on his bed with the lights dimmed, beneath the covers. And there’s heat radiating from another body, wrapping him up in a way the bed covers never could because Ashton is behind him, pressed against his back, pressing open mouthed, slow kisses to his shoulders and the notches of his spine as he moves down. Luke can’t stop imagining the weight of Ashton leaning over him, his breath wafting over the back of Luke’s neck while his hands move over his sides. Ashton’s long fingers on his waist. His thumbs pressing into Luke’s hip bones. 

Luke can’t suppress the tiny whimper that leaves his mouth at the visual. His voice comes out strained. “Uh-huh. You took him from behind?”

“Yeah.” There’s some more shuffling on Ashton’s end and Luke hears the unmistakable sound of a belt being undone. He tilts heavier against his countertop because the image of Ashton touching himself is not one he needs to have. “But I would have rather been front to front. I like seeing people’s faces.”

Luke imagines laying on his back. Ashton hovering over him, arms braced on either side of his head. Imagines Ashton kissing him on the mouth, swallowing his groans as they come. Ashton’s hands on his ribs. Ashton’s mouth on his jaw, on his neck, on his collar bones, on his chest. Imagines Ashton’s mouth all over. 

“God, I want that,” Luke breathes and he’s pressing himself tightly to the counter, the only grounding he has when this conversation makes him want to sink to the floor, weak at the knees. “I want you.”

It’s the truth. He does. He wants Ashton so much he can barely stand it.

He half expects Ashton to pull out the old ‘want me? You barely know me’ because from Ashton’s perspective he’s a random stranger on the phone being paid to say this. But, much to his surprise—and pleasure—Ashton plays along without missing a beat. 

“You do?” Ashton’s voice has gotten lower. “What do you want from me?”

And hearing that from Ashton? In this context? It may very well be too much. This _all_ has been too much. Luke is waiting for one wrong line and then he may come in his pants with the way he’s starting to grind himself against the countertop. God, what a whore he is. Trying to get his rocks off over the phone to his best friend in the middle of his kitchen next to a bowl of cut up squash. 

But he’s far too gone now to think about the repercussions of this interaction.

“I want you to fuck me,” he whispers, breathless. “God, I want it so bad, Ash, you have no idea.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Tell me,” Ashton replies and Luke can barely hear it over the phone but he thinks— 

Luke swallows. “Are you touching yourself?”

“I’m supposed to, aren’t I?” It’s not a legitimate question, it’s incredulous and the voice is snarky and Luke pictures Ashton on his bed, pants and boxers pushed down and his hand around his cock, while smirking into a telephone, Luke on the other end, telling Ashton he wants him to fuck him… and that’s what is making Ashton touch himself.

“Yes, yes,” Luke murmurs, saying quickly into the phone, “I wish I was there. You wouldn’t have to do it yourself. I’d take care of you.”

He’s gaining too much confidence. He needs to shut up before he says something he regrets or worse, something that betrays him and reveals too much. 

“God, if you’d let me, I’d make you feel so good.” Luke is grinding himself against the counter. “I would, I swear.”

“Would you?” Ashton prompts, sounding coy. His breathing is coming out more labored.

“Yes.” And it’s the truth. If he had the chance, he’d do so many things to Ashton Irwin. And out loud, he starts the list, “I’d get on my knees for you, suck you off. Let you pull my hair, fuck my mouth. I’d sit in your lap and ride your cock if you wanted. Whatever you want, I’d do it. You’d make me feel so good, Ash. I know you would. You always do. Make me feel so wanted—”

Ashton moans. It’s a panting sort of sound and it’s right in Luke’s ear and he’s not expecting it and he’s never heard a sound like that from Ashton before. It transports him to a world where he really is sitting on Ashton’s cock on the couch of his dorm, arms wrapped around his shoulders like when they were dancing that one day, head buried in the crook of Ashton’s neck while he fucks down onto him. And he hears the same sound, Ashton’s heavy moan, right beside his ear, right against his skin, and it’s enough to make him chorus the sound into the air of his kitchen. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hips rubbing the counter harder. He’s seriously going to come in his pants any minute. “You sound so good, Ash. I love hearing you. Please moan for me. Please. Fuck, I want to hear you.”

And Ashton does, louder this time, longer, and Luke knows what’s happening. He’s hearing Ashton come and that’s enough to send him over the edge, right into his own pants in his own kitchen against his own counter, clutching the edge of it for life support as he lets out a high pitched, stuttering whine.

For a few moments, the only thing they share through the receiver are heavy pants, Luke’s chest heaving up and down as he lays against the counter. 

It’s Ashton who breaks the silence first, spent and exhausted but his voice having a sort of light buzz now. “Thanks for that, even if it’s acting.”

Luke wants to say ‘it wasn’t acting, I want all those things. I want you so bad it hurts’ but he doesn’t get the chance because the dial tone hits his ears before he can so much as open his mouth.

***

Luke is dirty. He doesn’t feel dirty. No. He _is_ dirty.

He’s changed clothes entirely since the… He’s going to exclusively refer to it as “the incident” from now on because if he actually acknowledges it as something real that happened he’ll have a genuine anxiety attack. 

He’s so disgusting. 

He has dressed himself in a pair of tired sweats and a white t-shirt. He was craving the warmth of one of his sweaters but he can’t even look at them now, knowing who they belong to. Knowing what horrible thing he did to the person that had given them to him 

Strictly out of platonic, innocent love, Ashton had given those to him and Luke had forever tarnished the sentiment with his sick, perverted ways. 

So, instead of cuddling up to one of Ashton’s sweaters like he always does, Luke is sitting alone on his couch, staring at his abandoned bowl of squash on the table, knees tucked up to his chest. 

He can’t believe he actually _did_ that. To Ashton. Took advantage of him like that. Ashton was so obviously vulnerable and like a vulture, Luke had swooped in and prayed on that. 

But at the same time… he can’t stop thinking about how Ashton sounded, panting in his ear. He can’t rid his mind of the visual… can’t stop wanting to kiss Ashton, to press against him, drown in his touch. 

He glances at the clock on the wall to find that it’s…

It’s about two hours before Ashton is supposed to come over and the thought of facing him is so fucking sickening that Luke actually dry heaves into his hand. 

He can’t do this. There’s no way he can look Ashton in the eyes, knowing what he did. He fumbles to retrieve his phone from his sweatpants pocket, his hands shaking as he moves to— 

He certainly can’t _call_ Ashton. Not after that. The voice is too fresh, Ashton would know instantly. Would know what an absolutely horrible, vile person Luke truly is. 

So, with trembling fingers, Luke decides to text him. 

_Hey, about tonight. I have to cancel._

His heartbeat is going a hundred miles a minute and sweat is clinging to his hairline. 

Ashton’s reply comes within a minute and the alert makes Luke jump in his seat, _:( why not? I was gonna dress all nice and everything._

Luke chokes down the lump in his throat. _Sorry. Tons of hw i didn’t realize i had. can’t do it tonight._

There’s a beat or two before Ashton responds, _ok np. we’ll do it some other time :)_

Luke turns his phone off in a hurry without texting back. No. He knows. No, there is no other time. He’s never going to be able to look Ashton in the eyes again. 

He’s ruined everything.

***

Luke has never been the best at subtlety. And avoiding Ashton is no exception. He’s not smooth at all in his turning down every opportunity to hang out, evading questioning by blurting out, “sorry, I’m swamped with work right now” every time Ashton so much as opens his mouth.

Ashton hasn’t stepped foot in Luke’s dorm for two weeks now, and—obviously—that’s not fucking normal. Ashton used to be over there all the time, helping Luke with notes, giving Luke life advice, preaching about the wonders of the universe, talking to Luke about the intricacies of music. Now there’s silence where Abbey Road used to play. 

Luke’s never been more miserable in his entire life. His days are spent at school, doing constant home work, and then at home having horrible, traumatizing phone sex with men who treat him like shit, and finally in bed, staring at the ceiling, regretting everything he’s ever done to lead him to this point. 

He hasn’t worn any of his favorite sweaters. He’s refused all advancements from Ashton because he can’t hear his voice now without thinking of how vulnerable he sounded when he had whispered ‘I like boys’ and how goddamn sensual he had sounded when he said ‘I liked how warm he was.’ 

Every time Luke sees Ashton now, even passing him in the halls, his mind travels to that moment, his face goes red, and he wishes the earth would do him a favor, split open, and swallow him up. 

He’s hoping Ashton hasn’t noticed how readily Luke has been avoiding his presence. Although, it isn’t very secretive. Luke had hoped he was being at least somewhat normal until this Friday, when Ashton caught him entering his dorm and had caught him by the arm. 

It wasn’t very normal when Luke ripped himself out of Ashton’s grip like he was being burned. 

Ashton had stepped back, wide eyed, and said, voice coming out small, “uh… Luke, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, what’s up?” Luke had replied, voice far too clipped. His cheeks were already red.

Ashton had made a concerned face but hadn’t questioned that any further as he glanced away down the hall and then back, saying, “I know you’ve had a lot to do lately…”A hollow laugh had escaped. “A _lot_. But I’m making sure you can… still make it to dinner tomorrow? I’m making chicken carbonara.” 

The dinners. The dinners the four of them have, as a family. Family dinner. That Ashton cooks. Because he’s perfect.

Absolutely not. 

Luke can’t sit across a dinner table from this man and act like everything is normal. There’s no way. And he had said as much. 

“Sorry. I can’t.” Before disappearing into his dorm without another word. 

Apparently that wasn’t as smooth as he had hoped. That interaction was the one that gave him away and now he is reaping the consequences. Although, he is surprised when it’s Calum who pulls him aside and not Ashton himself. 

It’s Calum who appears at his door Friday night, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. He doesn’t even let Luke get out so much as a hello before he is striding into Luke’s dorm, scowling. 

“Alright.” He turns heel in the living room, standing in the center of it with a hard glare and a firm stance. “What the fuck.”

“What do you mean, ‘what the fuck’?” Luke asks, shutting the door behind him. He puts his hands behind him and leans into them. 

“I _mean_ ,” Calum annunciates, “what the fuck is up with you lately?”

“Noth—” Luke starts. 

Calum shoots an accusing finger into the air. “Don’t you give me that ‘nothing is up with me’ bullshit, because I know something’s up. You don’t blow off dinner.”

Luke diverts his eyes to the floor in shame. 

“You’ve been avoiding me and Ash like the plague for like two fucking weeks now, Luke, what gives?” Calum moves his hands to rest on his hips. “I can’t figure it out and it’s starting to piss me the fuck off. And don’t even get me started on what it’s doing to Ash.”

Luke snaps his head up at that. “What it’s doing to Ash?”

“Luke!” Calum huffs. “You’re his best friend—I mean, next to me—and now suddenly, up out of the blue, you’ve completely cut him off. What the hell gives, man? Did something happen? I know you can’t be mad at Ash, he’s a fucking saint.”

He is. He’s perfect.

“So you’ve gotta be mad at me, right?” Calum sounds like he’s genuinely trying to piece it together. To make it make sense in his mind. “I’m a dick, I know that, and I make fun of you but I can’t think of any time I actually crossed the line, especially not recently—”

Luke shakes his head, and he can’t help but smile weakly. “No. No, Cal, you didn’t do anything to offend me.”

Calum’s arms drop. “Oh.”

They stare at each other across the room. 

“So if _I_ didn’t…” Calum narrows his eyes on Luke. 

Luke knows this is the part where he is supposed to fill in the blanks so he lets out a heavy breath, bowing his head and shrugging his shoulders pathetically as he admits, “it’s Ash. Yeah. I’m kind of… avoiding Ash right now.”

“Why?” Calum asks, shocked. “He’s an angel.”

“I know!” Luke’s voice edges towards a wail, throwing his head back against the door. “He’s perfect! He’s so fucking sweet it makes me sick! He gives me sweaters and makes us dinner and loves music and—”

“You…” Calum puckers his lips. “You hate him because… he’s perfect?”

“What? No.” Luke shakes his head back and forth. “I don’t _hate_ him. And it’s not him really, it’s… it’s me.”

Calum doesn’t understand. 

Luke lets out a shaky breath and feels himself melting against the door. His voice is a whisper. “I did a bad thing, Cal. I did a really bad thing.”

Calum doesn’t look so sure. “What’d you do?” 

“I can’t tell you.” Luke knows that’s a shitty answer but it’s the truth. There’s no possible way to tell Calum he’s a sex worker and then throw in the fact that he had phone sex with Ashton without letting Ashton know it was him. No. 

Calum grunts his disapproval. “Then how am I supposed to help? Ashton’s dying here, and you don’t look like you’re doing much better.”

Luke’s not. And that’s what makes him take a steadying inhale, fixing his eyes on his shoes as he asks what’s been on his mind for the last two weeks, “why didn’t Ash tell me he was gay?”

Calum’s posture changes entirely, his body going rigid, his eyes bugging. “How did you—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Except that it does and Luke will definitely have to come up with a feasible lie to explain himself later. “But I know that he told you and he didn’t tell me. Why not? Does he not… Does he not trust me or something?”

Calum acts like he can’t believe Luke would think that. “Of _course_ he trusts you.”

“So,” Luke laments, “why didn’t he tell me?”

Calum gives him an exasperated look. “Luke, why do you _think_ he didn’t want to tell you?”

“Because he doesn’t trust me.”

Calum bares his teeth. “No! It’s because it’s _about_ you, dipshit.”

That doesn’t totally fit together in Luke’s head. 

“Ashton’s not gay,” Calum says and now Luke is royally confused. But, lucky for him, Calum is kind enough to carry on with his explanation, “and he isn’t straight. He’s… I don’t know, he’s Ashton. He’s a freak.”

Luke opens his mouth in offense. 

“In the best way! He’s a beautiful freak,” Calum reassures. “But he loves differently than us, y’know? That’s why he’s awkward as shit when we talk about sex.”

Luke’s cheeks dust themselves pink. He thinks, _not so awkward on the phone._

“He loves like… God, Luke, I can’t even explain it.” Calum rubs at his forehead. “He’s so… open. He’s so honest in it, y’know? He puts everything into what he does. He gives his life to it. Every little thing. And that’s no different to people. Ashton loves people. He loves any kind of person and sex isn’t…”

Calum pushes at his eye sockets with his fingers, obviously having trouble articulating his point.

“It’s an extension of intimacy, not something to do because you’re bored and you’ve got pent up energy. Ashton’s not into girls and he’s not into boys, he’s into people. Specific people.”

Luke is confused as shit. “What does that have to do with—”

“You’re one of those people!” Calum throws his hands up. “For God’s sakes, man, are you blind as well as deaf! Don’t you see him! He’s been absolutely obsessed with you since day one!”

Instantly, Luke scoffs. “No, he hasn’t—” 

“You don’t see him giving me nice clothes, do you?” Calum prompts. “Don’t see him cooking me solo dinners every other day. Don’t see him helping me study. Making me glasses of tea. Don’t see him getting a whole ass job at a record store so he can learn more about _my_ major, now do ya? You don’t! Because he’s not in love with _me_.”

Luke is staring at Calum, bewildered. 

“And he was talking to me 24/7 about how infatuated with you he is to the point that—” Calum breaks off— “Fuck, I shouldn’t tell you this, this is so—”

He glances at Luke’s big blue eyes and his gaze hardens. 

“Y’know what? Fuck it. I don’t give a shit anymore, I’m done with this secretive bullshit.” Calum says it so fast, blurts it right out, like it’s something he’s been holding in forever. “Remember a couple months ago? When you wore those leather pants? Ashton was so fucked up by that he got fucking _wasted_ and fucked the first guy he met that had blue eyes. And that’s not like Ashton, Luke. Ashton loves differently than us, and _you_ made him do that. That’s how gone he is for you.”

“Ashton likes me?” Luke mumbles. 

Calum rolls his eyes. “He’s in love with you, dumbass.” 

Luke’s mouth has slowly fallen open, Calum’s words starting to lay themselves heavy on his heart as his mind begins to put two and two together and he thinks back to Ashton’s phone call… and… oh. 

_Oh_. 

He’s blind as well as deaf.

***

“Hey,” Luke says when Ashton opens the door, “can I come in?”

Ashton, shocked by Luke’s presence, hurries to get out of the way, gesturing for Luke to enter. “Yeah, of course. You never have to ask, Luke.”

There’s this tension around them that has never been there before and Luke blames himself for it entirely. Because it’s his fault. 

He walks slowly into Calum and Ashton’s dorm, looking around slowly like he’s never seen it before in his life. 

“Uh.” Ashton pockets his hands. “So what’s—”

Luke turns around. “We need to talk.” 

That obviously throws Ashton for a loop, and he sways back on his heels, sending a glance to the side as though he’s looking for a means of escape. “Okay? About what?”

Luke stares at him. 

“The fact that you’ve been avoiding me for two weeks?” Ashton turns to him head on and Luke is surprised by how dark his eyes are. 

“Yes.” Luke nods. 

“Okay.” Ashton folds his arms. He keeps his tone even, ever the psych major. “Why’re you avoiding me, Luke?”

The way he says Luke’s name… 

And Luke can’t hold it in. He doesn’t want to bounce around the subject; he just wants to get it all out before it explodes inside him. 

“You called a sex hotline,” he blurts and Ashton reers back, floored by the words. 

“What?” he asks, face paling. 

Luke repeats, “you called a sex hotline. 976-LUST.”

“H-how—?” Ashton sends a frantic look away from himself— “How do you know that? Did you look at my phone bills or something?”

Luke isn’t going to lie. He takes in a hard breath to ground himself, stands firm in the living room and he says, “I was… I was the guy on the other side.”

Ashton stares at him. 

“I was the… operator… you talked to.” Luke is playing with his hands, making sure not to make eye contact. He’s so red and his skin feels so hot and he wants so bad for the earth to finally swallow him up. 

Finally, Ashton breaks the silence with a, “what?”

“I’m a…” Luke massages one of his wrists. “I’m a phone… sex operator. That’s what I’ve been doing in my free time… phone sex. To make money. It’s my job.”

Ashton doesn’t stop staring at him. 

“And you called in… and I… I didn’t want to lie to you but I didn’t want you to know that I—”

“That was _you_?” Ashton asks, voice cracking barely. “On the phone? Oh my god.”

He reaches up to cover his mouth and Luke can see how crimson his face is turning. 

He repeats, “oh my _god_.”

He backs up to the loveseat, falling into it heavily, covering his face with both hands, turning beet red. He doesn’t stop muttering the same words over and over. 

“Ash—” Luke starts but Ashton cuts him off. 

“Luke, I’m so sorry,” he says into his hands and that confuses the absolute fuck out of Luke but he doesn’t have to ask what that means as Ashton looks up at him, horrified and flushed. “I’m so fucking sorry that I… you had to hear me… oh my god. I can’t believe I _used_ you like that… and I didn’t even—Luke, if I had known, I never would have—”

And now Luke is really confused because this is not how this is supposed to be going. Ashton is supposed to be mad at Luke. He’s supposed to be furious and never want to talk to him again. Luke should be the one apologizing.

“No, Ash—” he tries but Ashton doesn’t let him. 

“Luke, I’m so embarrassed, I swear I’m so sorry. Oh my god, I can’t believe I did that to you.”

Luke can’t help but let out a nervous laugh. “You didn’t do anything to me, Ash. Not at all.”

Ashton doesn’t seem to understand. “You had to hear me…” he lowers his voice to a hiss. “You had to hear me _come_.”

_Yeah, and I’m better for it,_ Luke thinks. 

“You were doing your job,” Ashton insists, “and I get why you didn’t tell us and… God, I wish you hadn’t let me do that to you.”

“Ashton!” Luke laughs again, shaking his head and he walks towards the older boy. “You didn’t do anything to me; stop saying that. This is my fault. I didn’t tell you.”

“But I know why!” Ashton continues to wipe his hand over his face. “I’m the one who you had to… oh god you had to pretend to… oh my god, Luke, I’m so sorry.”

Luke hears the words and he knows this is the moment he’s supposed to let something slip, “I wasn’t pretending anything.”

Ashton looks up at him from his hands, confused. 

Luke says, “Calum, uhm.” He looks at his shoes. “Calum told me you like me.”

Ashton lets out a pathetic groan. “Oh god.”

“No, no.” Luke waves a hand, attempting to assure his friend. “I—Do you… I mean, _do_ you like me?”

‘Like’ seems like such a childish word. But ‘love’ is so grown up. 

Ashton doesn’t say anything for some time, simply staring at Luke before he opens his mouth, closes it, and mutely nods. 

A breath whooshes out of Luke and it feels like his soul leaves with it. 

“I’m so sorry,” Ashton whispers. 

Luke stares at him. Everything’s about to click into place. He feels it. And there’s no way he’s waiting another second to do what he’s always wanted. 

Luke takes two short strides and his fingers are in Ashton’s hair, slipping past his ear to sink into the curls of messed up hair and he doesn’t move Ashton’s head to the side but instead tilts his own mouth to align their lips and kisses Ashton without a second thought. 

Ashton’s body stiffens and he gasps in surprise at the sensation of Luke’s warm mouth and his plush lips against his own. His hand catches the collar of Luke’s shirt and he keeps it trapped in his hand. 

Ashton lets out a soft breath against Luke’s mouth and his eyes are closed, his eyelashes over his cheeks that are deep red with blush, and Luke feels himself sink into this moment—this important, astounding moment—his own eyes fluttering shut as he sighs through his nose.

Ashton’s breath is so hot and his lips are so smooth and Luke shifts from his collar to his neck, feeling the soft flesh beneath his fingers. 

Ashton lets out a scared chuckle as he briefly parts from Luke’s mouth, their noses bumping together, his arms resting around Luke’s shoulders, trembling fingers trailing through Luke’s hair. 

He mumbles, fear in his eyes, that causes his voice to break, “Luke?”

“Uh-huh,” Luke answers, his eyes only half open, his lips feeling damp and so, so soft. Part of him wants to reach up and feel over them because they feel different than they used to. Ashton’s breath lingers on them. 

“Do you—” Ashton breaks off in a disbelieving laugh. 

“Uh-huh.” Luke bobs his head and he swallows thickly. “I wasn’t pretending. I swear I wasn’t on the phone. The moment I knew it was you. Fuck, Ashton. It was everything I wanted.”

Ashton’s face breaks into that smile that belongs to only him, so jovial and excited and his skin feels like its buzzing from where Luke’s fingers are resting on his pulse point beneath his jaw. Luke’s other hand moves to rest on Ashton’s shoulder.

Ashton keeps playing with his hair and his fingers keep shaking as they do. He hesitates. Licks his already glistening lips. “I’m gonna do that again. If it’s alright.”

“Yeah.” Luke nods. “You should.”

Ashton laughs before he leans back in and Luke meets his lips halfway. 

“C’mere,” Luke whispers against his mouth, “c’mon. C’mon.”

He takes one of Ashton’s hands in his own, linking their fingers and starts to pull Ashton up from the chair with him and Ashton follows him without even a second of protest. 

Ashton follows Luke like they’ve been meaning to walk together for their entire life and until now, they’ve been stumbling alone.

***

Luke adjusts his shirt and pushes the door closed behind him. It’s locked. Carefully, purposefully, locked. He sends Ashton a smile from the corner of his mouth and when Ashton returns it, there’s something almost shy in the glance, nervous, that makes Luke’s stomach twist.

He definitely knows why the door was locked. 

Luke feels his pulse in his wrist and the base of his chin, pounding in his throat. Thunk, thunk, thunk. 

_Are you going to kiss me now?_

"You uh," Ashton starts to say and Luke listens intently. As if the phrase is going to be something beautiful. "You look nice."

"Do I?" Luke glances down at himself, smoothing out the front of his outfit. He looks up through his eyelashes. "Feel nice."

Ashton lets out a breath. "Do you?"

Luke grins. "Do I feel nice?"

"Yeah,” Ashton laughs. “Sure.”

Luke can't help but snort. “You’re not very good at flirting, you know."

"I can be if I try,” Ashton promises, “what sort of pickup line do you want?"

Now that’s it. That’s the switch. 

Luke doesn’t want Ashton to try out pickup lines. He doesn’t want to make a joke of this. Not when his heart is beating like it’s so serious. 

Luke’s face falls, his body going stiff, and Ashton acts like he doesn't know what exactly has caused that reaction. What exactly about the words he has just said have elicited such a change in demeanor.

Although, he doesn’t have long to ponder as Luke pushes himself from the door frame.

He closes the gap between them in two purposeful strides, and surprisingly, Ashton meets him halfway as soon as he is called, and their mouths come together uncleanly, teeth clicking and noses bumping, breaths coming in short and shallow.

Perhaps too excited. Luke is perhaps too excited.

The urgency is apparent in the rapid movements, how awkward and precarious, two men throwing themselves together like they can’t waste another moment being apart.

Luke certainly doesn’t waste time knotting his fingers into Ashton’s hair, tugging, pulling to get him to open up and Ashton wraps one of his arms around Luke’s waist, grabbing his shirt in a fist, and his other hand comes to Luke’s neck, resting below his jaw, the pads of his fingers pressing into sensitive skin.

Luke loves it. How hot Ashton’s fingers are on him and he says as much against Ashton’s lips.

Ashton groans and the sound reverberates through Luke’s mouth and into the rest of his body.

If Ashton keeps kissing him like that, keeps subtly whining like that, the night is not going to go well.

Ashton digs his fingertips into the space between Luke’s pants and where his sweater has ridden up. Luke doesn’t know why he feels so desperate. Like he will never get the chance to kiss Ashton again. Like he has to make the most of it while he has him.

He knows that’s not the case. And yet, it feels like it might be.

“Shit,” Luke heaves into Ashton’s mouth, holding onto Ashton by his hair, collections of curls strung out between his fingers, his nose pressed into Ashton’s cheek.

Ashton keeps digging his fingers into Luke’s sides. Luke is almost worried he’ll leave a bruise. And then he thinks that there’s absolutely no problems with that. In fact, he all but encourages it.

Their bodies have found a way to curve together in the stumble, stomachs and chests against one another, breathing in sync, and Luke places one of his legs between Ashton’s, their knees knocking unceremoniously.

Luke is pressing into Ashton with a recklessness, trying to get him closer, any way to just get him _closer_. 

Luke can tell by his panting, Ashton is as desperate as he is. 

“I know,” Ashton whispers back. Luke’s lips hover a centimeter away from his. He can feel Ashton breathing. Could hear Ashton’s heartbeat in his ears. “My room is a mess.”

Luke laughs and kisses Ashton again, smiling against his mouth and he strokes at Ashton’s hair in a calmer way, a tentative pet. Ashton’s hand has moved itself to the back of Luke’s neck and he is digging into that skin now.

Ashton feels like he’s shaking.

“It’s not as bad as mine,” Luke informs, kissing him again. 

“Well, you don’t have to entertain,” Ashton reminds. “I have to have a clean home if I’m expected to host any social gatherings.”

“Shut up.” Luke snorts. “You know Mike and I would come over even if you lived in a dumpster.” 

Ashton pecks Luke’s cheek. “That’s because you have low standards.”

“No. It’s because of you. I’d be anywhere you are.” Luke rubs his nose against Ashton’s cheekbone, fluttering his eyes shut and swallowing thickly. “For instance, if you were to get on that bed over there, I know I would be inclined to get on it too.”

Ashton chokes. He knows what that means. Can hear it in Luke’s tone. Can see it in his hooded eyes and taste it on his lips. Luke doesn't try and make things subtle. He isn't a subtle man these days.

It’s overwhelming, the want. Overpowering. All consuming. He _needs_.

Although, Ashton doesn’t say a word in response to that. Doesn’t say that he is burning up with the want to touch Luke, to dig his fingers everywhere he can and leave marks all over. Disappointing. Luke wants to hear every thought. Every dream he could fulfill. 

Everything he’d heard over the phone but instead of whispered into the receiver, he wants it said against his lips, wants it murmered into the crook of his neck, hissed against every notch in his spine, mumbled into the inner flesh of his thighs. 

But Ashton doesn’t say a thing as he helps the both of them over to his bed—his bed, _Ashton_ ’s bed—their feet crisscrossing over one another and tripping as they go, stepping out of their shoes and giggling quietly. 

Their mouths never disconnect for too long. 

Luke could get used to this.

“I’ve been wanting this for so long,” Ashton says as he sits down on the comforter. It sounds honest and Luke crawls to sit in his lap. 

Luke doesn’t take the time to look around at his bedroom which Ashton doesn’t seem to be offended by. Luke doesn’t care what the bedroom looks like, nor does he care what kind of sheets are on the bed. He only cares that Ashton and he are in it. Alone. 

The lights are off. 

“Me too.” Luke kisses him hard, holding their mouths together for a few beats longer than usual, grappling with Ashton’s jacket, trying to get the buttons undone, too focused on Ashton’s face to avert his eyes and properly remove the garment. 

“I mean ever since you first—" Ashton is pulling at the bottom of Luke’s sweater, untucking it the best he can. He can’t seem to finish his thought.

He lets out a sharp curse when he finds the bare skin of Luke’s stomach, splaying his long fingers over Luke’s spine beneath the fabric and the front of his torso, holding him close.

Luke pants into his mouth, drawing his hands back from Ashton’s hair to the sides of his face, cupping his cheeks. Luke’s fingertips press to Ashton’s temples and Ashton closes his eyes. 

Luke could drown in this moment. Drown in this feeling.

Ashton lets out a whisper, blinking up at Luke through heavy eyelashes. Everything he says sounds like a confession. “I want to touch you. Can I do that, please?”

Luke can’t seem to get out of his shirt fast enough, scrambling to get it up and over his head entirely. It falls to the floor and Ashton busies himself with sliding his jacket off his shoulders.

Luke tries to help but his fingers are tripping as they try to make sense of Ashton’s clothing in their frenzied state.

“God,” Ashton says as Luke fumbles with the buttons. Luke starts from the top and Ashton starts from the bottom and their arms bump together. Ashton is shaking his head, breathing the words barely audible, “God, do you know what you look like right now?”

“I have a vague idea,” Luke answers with a small laugh. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Ashton whispers, sincere, when their hands meet in the middle of his shirt, and the blood in Luke's veins is sprinting. 

Boom, boom, _boom_ goes his heart.

“You are,” Luke replies as Ashton’s shirt makes it to the bedroom floor. He takes a moment to see the other man then. Broad shoulders, a dip where his hips begin, collar bones dying to be kissed. Luke inhales. “You really are. God _damn_.”

“Thanks.” Ashton’s breathing sounds booming to his ears.

Then, suddenly, Ashton is kicking out of his pants and Luke’s are somehow already on the floor (Luke wonders when they had gotten there). And then—then, they are both in nothing but their boxers and when Ashton comes back in to kiss him, their skin touches all over, Luke straddling Ashton’s lap, chests together and stomachs and bare thighs rubbing as Luke’s body moves against him—and he can feel it all.

Every piece of Ashton there is to touch, to kiss, to explore. 

Ashton kisses him, open, nothing but need, and Luke returns it easily. 

Ashton wanders his hands over Luke’s body, trailing his fingertips over his ribs that become more and more apparent every time Luke sucks in a greedy breath. And Ashton is _definitely_ shaking when Luke runs his hands over his sides to the dips where his hipbones reside, briefly prodding his thumbs against the flesh there, tweaking it in a way that is sure to make it sting.

Ashton moves his hands everywhere he can, like a blind man trying to make sense of the shapes. Luke’s hands are much the same, moving their way up the side of Ashton’s arms and over his shoulders. He wants more. Wants to map Ashton out entirely and memorize every detail.

"You're shaking," Luke says because he can’t stop himself. 

Ashton doesn’t stop feeling him up. His voice cracks. "Am I?"

"Yeah," Luke mumbles and he runs a hand down Ashton's chest. He stops above his heart. Feels it pound at his hand. As though it’s trying to escape Ashton's rib cage and land in Luke's palm. "God, you're really losing it, baby.”

"I’m not losing it," Ashton protests breathlessly and before he can arggue further, Luke dips his head and places their lips together again. He coaxes Ashton to open his mouth so Luke can taste him better. 

Luke is careful as he kisses him—because you need to be careful with someone has pristine as Ashton—smiling to himself. “I want you so bad.”

Ashton squeaks at that and Luke can feel Ashton’s dick pressing hot and heavy into his thigh from where he’s situated in his lap. 

“Do you want me?” Luke asks.

Ashton scoffs, gripping onto Luke’s waist. “Is that even a question?”

Luke’s hands trail down Ashton's stomach to below his navel, barely above the waistband of his boxers.

Ashton's body trembles again, more violently, as Luke's hand lands there and suddenly, Luke feels… He can’t even think of a word for it other than, elated. Feels beautiful, and brilliantly happy as his tongue explores Ashton's mouth and his hands dance across Ashton's skin, Ashton's own hesitant hands prodding and leaving a tingling sensation of unease wherever they press. 

Luke kisses Ashton while attempting to tug down his boxers.

"Ash," Luke tries to say into his mouth but it’s nothing more than a whine. Ashton’s fingers are working at massaging his sides. 

"Uh-huh." Ashton ruts up against him and that is enough to make Luke moan. "Tell me what you need, Lu. Whatever you need, I'll do it."

"I need—"

Luke gasps as Ashton moves in a particular way against his hips and he grips at Ashton's shoulders, digging his nails in. It all feels too good and too real and yet he needs more. He needs so much more. 

Luke shouldn’t be nervous to request it. “Will you fuck me?”

Ashton lets out a sharp sound and the word that leaves his mouth is desperate, “ _please_.”

***

Calum was right, Ashton does love differently.

Luke’s only ever been with three guys (and of course tens of random men through the phone) but none of them treated him the way Ashton is treating him right now. None of them cared as much as Ashton does, and Luke is honestly so overcome with affection right now that he might start crying in the middle of sex. But that may be awkward. 

Luke doesn’t even know if he can call this sex, what they’re doing. He knows he can’t call it ‘fucking.’ The only thing he can think of is ‘making love’ and that seems to be exactly what Ashton is doing. 

Ashton is making love to him like he’s writing poetry to Luke’s body with his fingertips instead of words.

He’s three fingers deep into prepping Luke, but it’s not the usual rushed, have-to-get-through-this-to-get-to-the-good-part. It’s slow and tender and Ashton is hovering over Luke on the bed, beneath the covers the same way like Luke imagined it. 

Scratch that. It’s so much better than Luke imagined. 

Ashton has one hand running over Luke’s stomach, sides, arms while the other one is pushing fingers inside him, slowly stretching him, opening him up, and his mouth is in the crook of Luke’s neck, sucking marks into the sensitive flesh. 

And he hasn’t shut up since they started. Which Luke would have found annoying if Ashton wasn’t saying the most beautiful things he’s ever heard in his life. 

Simple nothings whispered into his ear, right against Luke’s skin, hot breath ghosting over the bruises that are beginning to accumulate on his pale flesh.

Ashton is literally writing fucking poetry to him. This is what this has to be. Saying things to Luke that no one’s ever said to him before. 

Telling him how beautiful he is. How soft his skin is. How warm he is. How good he feels. How good he _is_. How kind and pure and how all Ashton wants to do is make him feel loved. Well, Ashton shouldn’t worry about that. He’s doing it. 

He’s tracing his fingers lightly over every freckle, every inconsistency in Luke’s skin, kissing it and saying he loves it, how pretty it is, before he moves onto the next and it’s… Ashton has to know what he’s doing. 

He has to know he is ruining Luke. Because Luke will never be able to feel like this again. 

The backs of his eyes are stinging as Ashton presses his fingers into him, brushing his lips over Luke’s neck, the freshest bruise that has blossomed there. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Ashton whispers for maybe the hundredth time and he moves his fingers in such a way that Luke can’t do anything but whimper in response. “So good for me, Lu. So good.” 

And while Luke would probably be happy just getting constant praise and reassurance from Ashton for the rest of his life, in this moment, he needs more. So he sighs out, the words barely audible, “Ash. Please.”

It’s the first time he’s spoken in words in the last ten minutes so Ashton has to know what he means and, of course, he does, because he looks down at Luke, smiles, and gently removes his fingers. 

Luke feels so fucking empty without him. 

But it’s only a second before Ashton is back on top of him, warm and comforting, wrapping him up. 

Even though he’s obviously been properly prepped for the last twenty minutes, Ashton still gives Luke a nervous glance as he lines himself up, and asks, “you ready?”

Luke doesn’t bother speaking; he doesn’t think he can. Merely nods and grabs at Ashton’s shoulders, anything to get him closer again as Ashton slowly begins to push into him. 

Ashton soothes his hands over Luke’s stomach and Luke’s never been touched like this, caressed so calmly and serenely, and Ashton’s hands are kind as they do their rounds over his skin and he can feel that his palms are worn and rough from a life that Luke hasn’t lived.

It’s like Ashton’s trying to memorize Luke’s every curve and shape by the way he touches him. Ashton keeps easing himself into Luke as he strokes him, his other hand moving to pull Luke closer by one of his thighs, his fingernails digging in as he tugs him up, sinking further inside him.

Once he’s fully seated inside Luke, their hips joined, Ashton holding one of his thighs so his leg is over Ashton’s back, his other hand massaging every other part of Luke available, they both stop, taking in heavy pants, adjusting to this new, all consuming feeling.

Ashton is looking down at Luke so closely, analyzing Luke’s features, locked on his eyes. 

Luke knows that he is so fucking red in the face, his neck and chest flushed as well, hair slicked from the sweat that's accumulated on his brow and he is breathing in desperate whines and sob-like moans because this is all so fucking much for him. 

Ashton is absolutely wrecking him without even trying. 

And by the look of euphoria on Ashton’s face, that’s exactly what he wanted. Surely, it must be, because the way he moves his hips and thrusts into Luke, holding him in place by his thighs… it may kill the him. 

Ashton knows right where the spot is, having mapped Luke’s body out so meticulously earlier and that’s right where he goes, clutching onto Luke’s hips with his large hands, keeping him stuck in place as he starts to fuck into him, slow and shallow at first before it melts into a faster, rougher movement and Luke can’t do anything but hold onto Ashton’s shoulders and moan as Ashton moves in and out of him. 

Not that he needs to do anything else. He feels like he could do this all day everyday for the rest of his life and he would die happy. 

“Fuck.” Ashton drops his head to Luke’s shoulder, fucking him against the mattress, hips rolling so expertly into Luke, making him move up towards the headboard with every thrust, their bodies pushing togther. “You feel so good.”

Luke nods, biting his lip. He lets out a sound that is meant to mean, ‘you do too. I could die like this’ but really it's a pathetic whine and nothing else. 

“M’not gonna last long,” Ashton confesses into Luke’s neck, never slowing down. He’s got a great rhythm and Luke meets every thrust, not able to get enough of Ashton. 

“Me neither,” Luke forces out and he can’t even finish the second word before Ashton rams into him, pulling a loud, hitching moan from Luke's raw throat. There aren’t words to describe how it feels. “Ash.”

“Mhm.” Ashton bites at Luke’s shoulder, holding his waist with both hands now, yanking Luke’s body to meet every thrust, his cock dragging deliciously inside of him. His speed is increasing and that’s it. That’s all Luke can take. 

He can’t even warn Ashton. Can’t do anything but throw his head back in ecstasy, holding tight to Ashton’s shoulders as he comes, spilling onto his stomach. Ashton continues to fuck him through it, milking the most intense, blinding orgasm out of him to the point that—for a second—Luke’s world goes black and white dots dance across his vision. 

Ashton keeps fucking into him before he too comes, shaking with the force of it, burying his head into the crook of Luke’s neck—the moan he lets out next to Luke's ear mind numbing—while gripping onto Luke's thighs as he comes into the condom. 

They breathe heavily against each other. They can’t speak. Luke doesn’t even think he can open his mouth. 

Finally, Ashton has the strength to pull out and Luke winces at the feeling of once again being empty. 

He whispers, eyelids half shut, in a daze, “ _fuck_.”

Ashton gently kisses the corner of his mouth, sliding his hand from Luke's hip and up his side, agreeing, “fuck.” 

Luke stares at the ceiling. He mumbles, “phone sex is the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Ashton laughs and flicks him on the nose to which Luke laughs to himself.

“I’m kidding. You know you are,” Luke promises quietly into the air between them. 

Ashton lets out this beautiful, nervous chuckle where he makes sure not to look directly at Luke, like he simply can’t believe this is happening. Luke can’t believe how beautiful Ashton is. 

“Thank you,” Ashton speaks against Luke’s curls, “that’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

“Me too.” Luke waits for a beat, contemplative. “That and a second plate.”

Ashton kisses him to shut him up.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my best but thanks for reading!


End file.
